


Android Dreams and Electric Sheep

by VagrantWriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Murder, Kidnapping, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Ramsay is his own warning, Robot/Human Relationships, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, robot abuse, robot-related consent issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 43,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7259245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Welcome to ZynthCorp, where we manufacture only the highest quality androids, the Zenith of Synthetic humans. Our dolls fulfill a multitude of everyday functions, from assisting the disabled and elderly to human companionship. And, of course, romance for the lonely bachelor/ette. So come on down to one of our stores. Our friendly and helpful staff will aid you in choosing the perfect Zynth for your lifestyle.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/>Robb fixes Theon. Literally.</p><p>Theon fixes Robb. Metaphorically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART I: BONES

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I love Dick. 
> 
> Phillip K. Dick, that is. Get your minds out of the gutter. 
> 
> The title comes from his book _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?_. It was a toss-up between that or _I, Robbot_.

Ramsay was his best customer. This was not a good thing. Most customers were one-time clients. They didn’t need a second visit, let alone a tenth. The man went through Zynths like cigarettes, like they were disposable and cheap.

Robb hadn’t seen him in several months and was beginning to get up his hope that Ramsay had changed his ways, but when he walked into the shop that day, lugging a human-sized box behind him, Robb knew he’d probably been away because he’d finally found a sturdier model. Robb was working on another project in the back workshop, but he acknowledged Ramsay’s entrance with a, “Be right there.” That didn’t stop Ramsay from slamming on the courtesy bell until Robb was forced to set his work tools down and come to the front desk.

Ramsay had already hefted the box onto the counter by himself. Zynths were heavier than an average person of comparable size, and during their inactive state, they were essentially just dead weight. Being able to lift a Zynth with bare hands was impressive. Robb knew several gentle giants, but he suspected that Ramsay was the sort of man who knew his own strength and didn’t hesitate to use it. The state of his Zynths spoke to that.

“Well, let’s see what we’ve got—”

Robb reached for the box’s clasps, but Ramsay slammed his hand on the lid to keep it closed. “I don’t need to be standing here when you judge me, Stark.”

“I never judge my customers.” It wasn’t technically true, but Robb tried.

Ramsay sneered. “Just get it fixed up. I don’t want to see it until it’s nice and pretty again.”

“Very well,” Robb said. “I have a few orders ahead of you, so I can get it back to you—”

“You can get it back to me next week,” Ramsay interrupted. “Put a rush on it. I’ll pay extra.”

_You mean your father will pay extra._

“Yeah…sure.”

“And I want it as good as new. Better than new. I spent a small fortune on this one, so I don’t want to hear about how this or that was too badly damaged.” He turned to go, but then stopped. “Oh, and don’t wipe the memory. I’ve got it just how I like it, so don’t go messing with it.”

Robb held in a frustrated sigh. “I’ll do my best.”

“ _Your best_ ,” Ramsay grunted. “Make sure it is.” Then he really did turn and go. The bell above the door chimed angrily as he stormed out.

Robb relished the silence and relief in his wake. The man was overbearing. Robb could hold his own, but he imagined a many a person would be easily cowed. Ramsay was a man used to getting his own way, perhaps because he wasn’t afraid to use his muscle. Or perhaps because his father was a wealthy politician. It didn’t matter to Robb. He didn’t help Ramsay because he was scared or impressed, or even because he needed the money. He could easily turn Ramsay down, and had often considered doing so. But, well…he liked Zynths too much. Liked repairing them, fixing them up. And Ramsay’s Zynths were always an interesting challenge.

This project was promising. The other one he’d been working on earlier would have to wait for now. Time to find out what he’d gotten himself in for. He unclasped the box and lifted the lid.

Okay, wow, yeah, he’d need to charge Ramsay extra for this.

The Zynth doll, curled into a fetal position to accommodate the size of the box, was a male model, which was a switch for Ramsay. He didn’t seem to have a preference, since his previous Zynths had all varied wildly in age, color, and shape. Except that they were all female. Again, it didn’t bother Robb. He worked on male Zynths all the time. It was just unexpected from this client.

The model was slender, built for the type of client who preferred a swimmer’s build. He—once Robb knew the Zynth’s sex, he could never call it an “it”—had been hand-crafted with obvious attention to detail. The face was fine-boned and handsome, peaceful in its dormant state. It was eerie, seeing such a tranquil look on a face when the rest of the body was a horror to behold.

Dark hair had been ripped from the Zynth’s head, leaving bald patches everywhere, the skin was pocked with teeth marks, fingernail indentations, cuts, and in some places even pulled away to reveal the smooth metal underneath. And that was just what he could see upon first inspection. He dreaded to think about the state of the Zynth’s…intimate organs. Not to mention the hard drive that Ramsay was so insistent he not wipe.

Well, no point in delaying the inevitable. Robb felt around for the on switch at the back of the head, usually hidden at the base of the skull. This model had particularly well-made hair, thick and dark where it hadn’t been pulled out. Probably real human hair. It was all matted now with things Robb would rather not think about, but he looked forward to rerooting and brushing the hair until it shined. It was, perhaps perversely, one of his favorite parts of doll-making.

He found the switch and flipped it. The motors whirred to life with a distressing sound. The Zynth’s eyes opened, but otherwise it didn’t move. The eyes were also well-made, a sort of bluish color, and the long, dark eyelashes that swept over them had been set with painstaking care. The attention to detail was astounding; Robb could even see the tear ducts. It always amazed him how more and more humanlike these things got every year. Soon there would be virtually no way of telling human from Zynth just by looking at them. As it was, there was something slightly off about this model. Not something Robb could place. Too perfect, maybe. To carefully crafted, not a hair out of place, that sort of thing.

Now that he was awake, Robb could run a full damage assessment, both inside and out. He reached under the counter to where he kept his diagnostic equipment. There was a plug behind the Zynth’s ear that allowed Robb to insert his override system locks. The Zynth would not respond to him otherwise.

A soft beeping from the device told Robb he had bypassed Ramsay’s passwords. Robb looked at the specs and sighed in frustration. Ramsay had frankendolled the hell out of the Zynth’s personality, cobbling something together from several different mods he’d downloaded himself. That was probably what he meant about getting it just right, but as it was, with all these excess programs sending off conflicting data to the Zynth’s personality center, it was a wonder he’d gotten anything out of it.

Robb tsk’d at the sloppy work. He’d promised Ramsay he wouldn’t wipe it, but maybe he could streamline it a little. For now, he kept only the programs necessary for evaluation going. The rest of it went into one of his empty thumb drives so he could tamper with it later. “Can you sit up for me?” he asked as he unplugged.

The Zynth slowly untucked himself and did as he was asked. The metal plates under his skin moved in a perfect imitation of muscle. He even wore a convincing look of confusion on his face, like someone who was uncertain what had woken him. The pupils dilated as they took in the surroundings.

“What’s your name?” Robb asked, then added, “You can call me Robb.” Ramsay usually set the default for “Master.”

The Zynth blinked as he recalled the information from his database. “Reek.”

 _That_ was the name Ramsay had chosen? He usually didn’t bother to change the name from the manufacturer’s default. In fact, he’d had no less than three Jeyne models over the years. Robb had given them the nicknames Red Jeyne, Grey Jeyne, and White Jeyne to tell them apart. (Parts of all three were still around here.) He made a note to go online later to track down this model’s factory name. No way was he calling him Reek.

“Are you able to stand?” Robb asked.

The Zynth nodded. He crawled out of the box like a spider, motors whirring and limbs jerking unnaturally. Ramsay had obviously damaged some of the inner mechanisms. He climbed down from the table and stood with his hands at his side, not at all aware of his state of complete undress. He was, of course, anatomically correct. Some Zynths weren’t, the ones who weren’t expected to perform _that_ sort of function.

Robb whistled as he did a once-over visual assessment. The Zynth was a work of art, and Ramsay had really done a number on him. Besides the obvious damage from before, there were missing fingers and toes, cut with enough precision that it couldn’t have been an accident of overly-rough play. The neck was deformed and crushed, a not-uncommon thing to see in clients who liked to choke—at least they took it out on a Zynth and not a real person. The sexual organs had been mutilated to be nearly unrecognizable, and Robb hissed through his teeth at that. That was going to take some time to get back into working order. He would check the…other stuff later. Once the Zynth had been cleaned and sterilized, as was custom operating procedures for all Zynths who passed through his workshop, no matter their intended purpose.

In the meantime, he could do a basic check for damaged infrastructure.

“Raise your arms for me,” he said, stepping back.

The Zynth did, with more whirring of motors.

“Is that difficult for you?” Robb ran his hands along the lean arms to feel for potential damage.

“Yes,” Reek said, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, looks like your arm has been pulled beyond its range of motion.” That was damage typical of most of his clients, not just Ramsay, as they tended to overestimate how far a Zynth’s limbs could actually go, especially since the Zynth would not protest any mistreatment. “Do you have any other difficulties in moving? Back? Hips?”

“Hips.”

Robb ran his hands along Reek’s sides until he got to the hips. Sure enough, they were dislocated as well. “Well, those are both easy fixes.” _Relatively_ easy fixes. “How about your neck? Any interior damage.”

“No.”

“That’s good. How about your jaw?”

“Superficial damage,” he answered with absolutely no inflection in his voice. “It does not interfere with my ability to give oral intercourse.”

At least this sterile, clinical speech kept this all impersonal and detached, but Robb doubted he would ever get used to it. “Is your function strictly sexual?” he asked. “Or do you do other things for him?” It wasn’t any of his business except that it might change the repairs to the musculature, depending on what Ramsay had him doing.

“Model: Pantheon Erotic Companion Series,” Reek answered. “Designated tasks: intimate relations, cooking, cleaning, human socialization, stress relief—”

“Stress relief?”

The Zynth ran through its pre-programmed instructions. “The Pantheon Series is a highly durable model, able to withstand most damage, including but not limited to: blunt force trauma, conditions of extreme heat or cold, tearing, burning, crushing, fall—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

The Zynth stopped listing all the abuse it could take.

“That’s disgusting,” Robb muttered to himself. He loved Zynths, he really did. But sometimes he wished they’d show a little more self-preservation.

But then again, maybe that would put him out of a job.

“Step into my workshop,” Robb finally said, leading the way. The Zynth followed. The dislocated hip joint made a popping sound with every step. Robb winced. The infrastructure would need repairing first, but in the meantime… “I’ll start making up a new batch of skin for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Robb didn’t even bother to take off his jacket. He simply kicked off his shoes and then collapsed into his favorite chair with a heavy sigh.

“Tough day at work?” Jon asked, poking his head out from around the corner.

Robb threw an arm over his eyes. “I just spent five hours stripping the skin off a robot so I could hammer his skeleton back into place. Then I had to call Gendry and tell him I needed a functioning penis by next week.”

“I’m sure Gendry understands,” Jon said, unable to keep a straight face. “It’s good that you have someone to talk to about this sort of…personal issue.”

“Shut up and get me a beer.”

Jon wasn’t as big a smartass as he thought he was; he was generally too nice for it. The fridge door opened from the kitchen and he came out a moment later with a two ice cold beers. One went into Robb’s waiting hand, while the other Jon took for himself as he flopped down on the couch.

“You know, not every roommate would do this sort of thing for you,” Jon said, twisting off the bottle cap. He raised his drink in mock salute before taking a long pull. “What are you going to do when I’m gone?”

Robb didn’t want to think about it. He’d been trying so hard to simply be happy for Jon, and he was. Happy that he’d been promoted. Not so happy that he’d been transferred. They’d been rooming ever since college, and even before then they’d been joined at the hip since childhood. The idea of Jon moving away, having his own life…

“Maybe you’ll finally get a boyfriend,” Jon suggested. “Or a girlfriend.”

Robb took a sip from his beer.

“Or a droidfriend. I saw a pretty decent Jeyne model in the secondhand tech store the other day.”

“Gods, do you _know_ how many Jeyne models I’ve fixed up, Jon?”

“So, you’ll know how to fix her if she breaks down.” Jon propped himself up on one arm. “Look, I know you’re not into casual dating or any of that, and no way you’re ready for a long-term commitment. But you’re going to go crazy by yourself. It might help just to have…someone around the house.”

“I don’t want to be one of those creepy old losers who talks to their Zynths all day.”

“Better a Zynth than yourself. A Zynth can talk back, after all.”

Robb took another sip.

“I know, we’ll go shopping for one before I leave. Jeyne’s too high-end for you, got it. But we’ll find you a mid-level one, a companion. Nothing weird, nothing kinky. Unless…” Jon shrugged but had the decency _not_ to finish that sentence.

“I’d get better quality from making my own,” Robb mused. Gods knew he had enough spare parts in his workshop to make one almost completely from scratch.

“Good. That will give you something to do for a while, at least.”

Robb set his beer in the cup holder and idly slid his hand into his pocket. The thumb drive with Ramsay’s Zynth’s personality on it was still there. “I’ll…think about it.”

 

***

 

He didn’t know why he was so eager to get more work done. It wasn’t like putting in more hours would result in more or ever faster pay. He supposed he’d always had a compulsion to fix things. A literal compulsion. Fixing things focused his mind and kept those unwanted thoughts— _your fault, your fault_ —out of his mind. He’d had to take a semester off while he got his OCD under control, and if it hadn’t been for Jon, he probably never would have gone back to school. Gods, what was he going to do without Jon?

He chased that thought by plugging in the thumb drive into his personal computer. There was over a terabyte of information, but the computer scanned it all within seconds. Robb had always found comfort in the idea that personalities were programmable; it meant that people could be expected to behave in similar ways to similar circumstances. There was a simplicity to Zynths. You went online, found a personality that worked for you, and downloaded it into your model.

Ramsay had opted to cobble his own together, which was fine…if you knew what you were doing. Ramsay most clearly did not know what he was doing. There were so many mismatched variables in here, all mashed together to create something Robb’s computer could barely recognize.  Submissiveness was clashing with defiance; ego was clashing with fear. Robb could practically hear the tortured whirring on the internal components as they tried to bring the Zynth’s personality online. Finally, with a soft ding, it finished, and a popup menu with three folders appeared. He’d need to consolidate them all into one before he reinstalled the personality.

He clicked the first one, or the one Ramsay had downloaded first. He supposed that would be the primary personality and the one the others would have to jump off from. It was titled “Man’s_best_friend.” _Dog_? Robb wondered. He scrolled through rows and rows of files with titles like “submissiveness,” “eagerness,” and “loyalty.” _Definitely dog_.

Robb had considered getting a dog Zynth for himself on one or two occasions—they were cheaper and easier to program. Maybe he could get one that looked like Grey Wind and try to program a personality close to his old dog’s. The mere idea was depressing.

He’d never heard of someone installing a dog persona into a humanoid Zynth, though. He began to tag some of the more obvious files for deletion—such as “wag tail” and “stand on hind legs”—when a voice said, “Don’t touch those!”

Robb fell out of his chair, completely startled. He managed to crawl into a kneeling position using his chair and looked around the room, but there was nobody there. He looked to his door and waited for Jon to say something else, but there was only silence. The TV was on out in the living room, and when Robb went to peek, Jon was still on the couch and looked like he hadn’t moved.

Hesitantly, Robb settled back into his chair, turned the volume on his computer down, and plugged in his headset. “Hello?” he said. He hadn’t seen any indication of an incoming call, but perhaps he’d been too preoccupied to notice. He minimized “Man’s_best_friend” and saw a strange flashing icon on his desktop. Not an incoming call icon. Not one he’d ever seen before. “Hello?” he said again with a strange feeling in his gut. “Is this…who am I talking to?”

“Who’s asking? My voice scan doesn’t recognize you.”

“Uh…I’m Robb Stark.”

“User not recognized,” the voice said primly. “User is not cleared to make changes.”

“Are these your files?” Robb asked, bringing up the personality folders again. “Am I speaking to a Zynth?”

“User not recognized,” the voice repeated.

Holy shit. Somehow, for all the mess Ramsay had done with the programming, the AI was still working and responding. Which would have been a miracle in itself if Robb had actually _run_ the program. He hadn’t. The AI had started _itself_ up.

“Attempting visual identification.” There was a clicking sound as the AI tried to access the computer’s camera. “Identify yourself, unrecognized User. My eyes don’t seem to be working.” So, he was much more relaxed when his personality was turned on. The clinical-minded Zynth would have referred to the eyes as a “facial recognition system.”

 “Your files have been removed while repairs are being done to your body,” Robb explained. It must be terribly disorienting to wake up unable to see or feel, even if you were a robot. “Your owner gave me permission.”

A pause.

“I don’t believe you.”

Robb blinked at that. He’d never had a machine doubt him before.

“I’m going to call Master now and inform him that you’re messing with my systems.”

Robb nearly jumped out of his seat at the loud beeping in his ear. Shit, the Zynth had managed to access his internet and send out a message that read: “Attn: User Ramsay Bolton. Unauthorized access to your ZynthTM doll unit.” That…shouldn’t have been possible.

A few seconds later, a message dinged in his inbox. He knew before he even hit the play button on the video feed that he would see Ramsay Bolton glaring back at him. The man had the most unnerving blue eyes. “Stark, I just got a message from my Zynth that _someone_ is trying to mess with its data.”

“Uh…yeah, that would be me.” Robb scratched at the back of his neck nervously. “I’m not going to make any changes, I swear, but the way you have it running now…it’s likely to shorten the life expectancy of your Zynth.” He paused. “Drastically.”

Ramsay’s face grew even sourer. “Is it necessary?”

“In my professional opinion? Yes. If you don’t let me do the proper upkeep, you’ll be back in a week, maybe two.”

Ramsay seemed to think about that for a moment, insofar as he was able to think. Finally, he said, “Put Reek on the line.”

“I’ll…connect him.” He brought the Zynth in using the program that was normally meant for conference calls.

“Reek, are you there?”

“I’m here. Master, that’s your voice.”

“Yes, it is. Reek, I’m giving permission for Robb Stark to access your data.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Behave for him.”

“Yes, Master.”

“It’s good to hear you. I’ll be seeing you again soon, pet.”

“Yes, Master.”

Ramsay ended the video feed, and Robb sat back with a weary sigh.

“User: Robb Stark recognized,” the AI said. Then, “I apologize for not trusting you, Master.”

“No, no, that’s fine.” He would have felt guilty _not_ accepting the apology, even if it was from an AI. “But, um, call me Robb, okay? Not Master.”

“Acknowledged.” A window for settings popped up, and Robb saw his name marked down under “guest admin.” “What did you want to work on, Robb? Is there anything I can assist you with?”

“Actually.” Robb leaned forward on the desk. “I just kind of wanted to get to know you.”

“You wanted to…get to know me? Did I read your answer correctly?” He sounded incredulous.

“Yeah. I want to get a feel for what I’m working with.” He’d found from working in this business for three years that a Zynth’s desired personality could broadly affect the way he went about repairs. It wasn’t just a matter of slapping a personality onto an empty shell. The outside had to accommodate the inside.

“Alright.” He still didn’t sound convinced. “What would you like to know? All of my files are there for you to see.”

Robb thought. “What’s your factory default name?”

“I have none. I was custom-made, just like every model of the Pantheon line. I can give you my serial number if you like.”

“No, that’s fine. I just…I don’t want to call you Reek.”

“That’s the name Master gave me. It’s in my database.”

“Would you mind if I called you something else?” Robb wondered if he was being rude. It would certainly be rude to tell a person you didn’t like their name, could you call them something else? Rude as it might be, it felt ruder to keep calling him Reek.

“As long as I am in your care, I have no preference.”

“Okay, I’ll just keep it simple. You’re a Pantheon model. I’ll call you…Pan, for short.”

“Pan? The satyr god of shepherds, music, and sexual debauchery?”

“Oh…uh, maybe not.” Robb scratched at the back of his head, as he found himself doing when he was uncomfortable. “In that case, how about Theon?”

“From _theos_ , meaning ‘of the gods?’ As opposed to pantheon, meaning, ‘of all the gods?’ Yes, I suppose the spirit of the original is still there. I won’t object to you calling me by a shorter version of my model name.”

“I’m glad,” Robb said, letting his hand drop away. “You’re very well-spoken.” _For a computer program._

“Thanks.”

Robb felt himself blushing at the sheer cheerfulness of that last bit. The Zynth was just like a dog looking for a bit of validation. In fact, he was staring at the files right now, three different functions labeled “neediness,” one definitely under “Man’s_best_friend.” They were blinking in rapid succession as the AI kept going back to it for a proper response to his questions. So, lots of redundancy there. He made a note to start with deleting duplicates when it came time to actually clean and organize the files into a single, stable personality.

For now, he wanted to continue untangling this mess.

“Alright, Theon, here’s what I want you to do. Can you scan and isolate your least-used protocols. I want to thin out all these files first. I promise I won’t delete anything without your permission.”

“I appreciate that,” he said, “but as you are now authorized by Master to make changes, you no longer need my permission for anything.”

Robb coughed, feeling very uncomfortable about that. “I’d still prefer your input.”

“Why?”

 _Why?_ Why did he care about a machine’s opinion? Even the machine was asking.

“Are you done scanning yet?” Robb changed the subject and hoped the Zynth would not press the issue.

“Scan was completed in .026 seconds.”

“Good. Let’s continue this conversation tomorrow in the workshop, okay?” He quickly ended the program and pulled the thumb drive out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who just finished the first draft of this story? I'll be posting as I edit, so expect regular updates from here on out.

Robb came downstairs into the shop early to check on how the skin was coming along. The dye had set well overnight, and everything was good to go. He tuned the radio to the local classical music station and settled in to his workstation.

The Zynth had not moved since he’d turned the power off last night before closing shop—good thing, that would have really freaked him out. No, it was right where he’d left it, laid out on his worktable like a dead body waiting for an autopsy. Which was, perhaps, appropriate. Robb certainly felt like a coroner as he picked up his scalpel and began to cut away the bits of damaged skin from the body.

He had just gotten to the neck, which would need to be completely skinned in order to be replaced, when the soft and gentle sounds of Handel’s “Water Music” faded away, only to be replaced by the first jarring chords of Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.” On the organ, no less. Robb actually quite liked this piece, but there was something kind of…grim about it. He didn’t feel like working to it, not today and not with the task at hand.

He got up and turned the radio off. He was about to resign himself to a day of working in silence when his hand slipped into his pocket, almost of its own accord, and felt for the thumb drive there. The thumb drive with the Zynth’s personality. Without thinking too much on it, he plugged it into his work computer. “Theon, you there?”

“I’m here,” the voice answered back over his computer’s speakers. “I still can’t see anything.”

“Here.” Robb turned his webcam on. “How’s that?”

The camera’s iris contracted and zeroed in on him. He could see his own image reflected back at him from the monitor. “Is that you, Robb?”

Robb waved. “Hey.”

“I’ll have to wait until I have my full binocular capabilities back, but now that I have something to work with, I’ll start running the facial recognition systems.” A brief pause as the iris expanded back to a more passive resting position. “You have a nice face, Robb.”

Robb felt heat rise in his face. “Thank you.”

“Symmetrical, but with enough character to make it distinct. I like your face.”

Robb scratched at the back of his head. It was slightly comforting to know the machine was using objective tactics to judge the merit of his face and not simply flattering him, but it was still…awkward. This was why he was hesitant to get a Zynth of his own. He didn’t want a machine that would parrot back what it had been programmed, tell him what it thought he wanted to hear.

“I’m working on your skin today,” he began, heading back to his workstation. “I was hoping you’d keep me company.”

“Of course,” Theon agreed. “I am, after all, a companion model.”

Robb scooted back onto his stool, hooked his feet around the stool’s legs, and began cutting away the damaged skin on the neck. “So…why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

A pause. “What do you want to know?”

Robb thought for a moment. “What’s your history like? Did Ramsay give you any?” From the previous projects he’d done for Ramsay, it wasn’t exactly a high priority, programming any sort of backstory into his Zynths. But then again, he really seemed to be breaking out of his routine with this new one. If he had, Theon should be able to recite it, and his personality traits would react accordingly.

“No,” he answered, much to Robb’s disappointment but also a bit to his relief. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what a demented mind like Ramsay’s could come up with. “I’ve always been with my Master. I belong to him; he belongs to me.”

That caught Robb off-guard. “What does that me? He belongs to you?”

“Reek is Ramsay’s and Ramsay is Reek’s. He needs me. There is no one else who can fulfill the purpose I serve in his life.”

“Oh…I guess that makes sense.” _Kind of like Jon is for me, maybe_. No, it didn’t feel quite right to compare his relationship with his cousin to that of a Zynth. So maybe more like the old woman who lived down the hall from them, who owned five cats and spent all day taking care of them as if they were her children. That was more apropos, but somehow he suspected that woman’s cats were afforded much more dignity than Ramsay’s Zynths.

_It’s just a computer_ , he had to remind himself, because he was seriously beginning to get the shivers from thinking about it too much. _It’s a bunch of 0’s and 1’s firing in response to various stimuli_. He needed to stop anthropomorphizing machines. It was only causing him anxiety.

“Well…once I’m done compiling all your operating components, you’ll have space for a backstory.” Robb pulled away the flesh of the throat, revealing the metallic and quite-obviously-not-organic material underneath. “If he wants to give you one.”

“I’ll think about it. One of my personalities comes with a preprogrammed backstory, though it was never activated.”

“Okay…why don’t you tell me about that? Can you access the content without activating it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m just curious,” Robb said, though he supposed he didn’t need to convince an AI of anything.

“Alright. I was born into a wealthy family, youngest child, so I wasn’t expected to ever have much responsibility. Mother and Father didn’t have time for me, and I was often relegated to the care of nannies and various caretakers when I was young. Most of my friends, from childhood into adolescence, were paid for by my parents’ money. As a result, I suffered from feelings of inadequacy mixed with entitlement to create an inferiority-superiority complex.”

Robb finished stripping away the skin on the back of the neck. Then sat back and waited for Theon to finish.

It seemed he was done, though, because he didn’t continue.

“What? Is that all?”

“That’s all,” he affirmed.

“That’s…” Annoying? Sad? Confusing? Why would someone program such a thing?

Curious, Robb got up and went to the computer to browse through Theon’s files, see if he could get some insight into the programmer’s thoughts. He found a personality—the last chronologically to be downloaded—labeled “heiress” with files like “spoiled_bitch,” “mamas_boy,” and a whole subfolder labeled “whore.” Why would anybody want something like that? Well, he supposed he’d seen weirder things out there on the internet, even weirder mods. Then he remembered the first personality was called “Man’s_best_friend,” and he felt a shudder of revulsion pass down his spine.

He minimized the folders, not wanting to think about it anymore, and went back to work.

“If you ever want a real backstory, I can always make one for you,” he said. He was sure he could do much better than “heiress.”

“I can talk to Master about it.”

“Right.”

Finally, the last of the damaged skin had been removed, and now the new stuff could be applied. He brought the liquid-hot skin over the worktable a bucket at a time; if he didn’t start with a manageable amount, it would cool before he’d even finished applying it. He used a spreader to apply the first glob and smooth it out until it was the appropriate thickness. Even when hot, it would bind to the synthetic skin around it but not to the metal underneath.

It was satisfying, smoothing out all the imperfections this way. There were a lot of them, and it took concentration not to work too quickly, to do a thorough job. If he messed up, he’d have to chip the ruined patch away and start over again. He hated having to start over again. His mother had always said, “Anything worth doing is worth doing well.” Robb had always secretly amended it to, “Anything worth doing is worth doing _perfectly_.”

Slowly but surely, the imperfections were wiped away and only a clean surface remained, not to be touched while it dried.

“You’re good at that,” Theon noted.

“Thank you.” It was nice to be complimented for his work. So often his clients assumed that what he did was magic, simply waving a wand and fixing whatever was broken. He…didn’t let people watch him very often. And Theon wasn’t really a person. He paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he considered the situation. “Do you find it odd to watch yourself from outside your body like that?”

“It is…limiting.”

“You don’t feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience?”

“I don’t think my consciousness is connected to my body quite the way a human’s is.”

“Fair enough.” Robb stood to refill the bucket. “It must be really nice, being able to detach yourself like that.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘nice.’ I always get this feeling…sorry, I know I don’t really have ‘feelings,’ but there isn’t really any other word in my database that’s comparable…I get this feeling that I’m…lacking somehow. That I’m not quite…complete. Does that make sense?”

“Even humans feel that way sometimes.”

“There’s no way of knowing, I guess. We would need a common frame of reference.”

“Well…” Robb came back to the table lugging the bucket with him and settled himself in again. “Then talk to me.”

“For instance…” It was a bit creepy, the way the machine paused. He already had a very human-sounding voice without his uncertain, human-sounding speech patterns as well. “I can’t feel pain, and I know I can’t feel pain. I know from my files what the appropriate response to painful stimuli is, and I have a whole subset of specifications for what specific type of stimuli is painful, but…I can’t really feel it. And I know it bothers Master.”

“It bothers him that you can’t feel pain?”

“It bothers him that I can only emulate a human in distress. I can’t really suffer. I would gladly give myself the ability to feel pain, if such a patch came along.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Robb mumbled darkly. “I wish I didn’t feel pain.”

“I can surmise that it is unpleasant and undesirable, but still…I wish I could serve Master better. I love him.”

Robb’s spreader nearly slipped from his hands. “You love him?”

“Have I misunderstood love? He takes care of me and gives me purpose. I have great appreciation for that. I feel affection for him, and I’m happy whenever he’s around.”

“I mean…I guess that could be considered love. But…wait, you don’t experience pain but you do experience happiness?”

“Pain is a physical sensation I’m not built to feel,” Theon explained. “Happiness is anything which I find desirable to my being. Perhaps what I find desirable is a result of my programming, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect me. When I experience something I desire, I experience happiness. Wouldn’t you say that’s the definition?”

Robb thought about it. It seemed really easy when you put it that way, laughably easy. And yet… “You’ve never…gotten something you desired, only to find you didn’t really want it in the first place?”

“No.”

Of course not. By his very programming, he was incapable of that sort of thing. For a moment there, Robb had forgotten how, despite all the great leaps and bounds technology had made over the last hundred years, robots were still far less complex than humans. “Never mind then,” he said, returning to work. “I think your definition’s good enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering how Bach and Handel ended up as cameos in modern day Westeros, that's because...
> 
> See you next time!


	4. Chapter 4

“Robb! Gendry’s here for you. He’s got a package…if you know what I’m saying.”

Robb bolted out of bed, groggily throwing on his bathrobe as he stumbled from his room. It was too early for this sort of thing.

Jon was standing by the door, trying to cover a smirk. “I said, he’s got a—”

“I heard you the first time.” Robb pushed him out of the way. “Sorry, Gendry.”

“No big, Mr. S.”

“You don’t need to call me Mr. S.”

Gendry was a fresh-faced high school drop-out, not the type of person he would normally approve of his younger sister dating. But then again, if it hadn’t been for Arya, he’d have had to order his more specialized parts from somewhere else. And Gendry was nice enough, the kind of guy who looked like he opened doors for women and insisted on paying for his date’s dinner. If that was the case, he’d most certainly chosen the wrong girl to ask out. Arya had no taste for chivalry.

“Got your…order, Mr.…Robb.” He held out a nondescript package.

Robb took it and tucked it under his arm, not wanting to contemplate its contents. “Thanks, Gendry. You’ll invoice me, right?”

“I will. I hope you don’t mind that I added an extra charge for the rush fee.”

“No, no, of course not.” Robb waved him off. “I appreciate you getting back to me so fast.”

“No problem.” Gendry smiled and nodded and tipped his baseball cap, then began down the stairs as if he hadn’t just delivered a mechanized penis to a grown man.

Robb sighed and closed the door.

Jon was practically having a fit of giggles in the kitchen. Robb shot him a glare but didn’t have the heart to shut him up. Jon’s good moods were so rare, it was nice to see him smiling. He hadn’t smiled much since…well, since Ned had…

“You gonna open it or not?” Jon asked.

“This,” Robb set the box on the floor, “is classified material, strictly in client confidentiality, and I am not allowed to discuss it with you.”

Jon nodded. “Sure. But, like…can you at least give me an idea.” He held out his hands, demonstrating a possible length. “Bigger? Smaller?”

Okay, maybe there was such a thing as Jon being in a little bit too much of a good mood. Robb rolled his eyes. “I’m going back to bed. If I come out and this box has so much as moved, I’m charging you for it, understand?”

“Easy there, Robb.” Jon nonchalantly poured himself a glass of milk. “I wouldn’t go messing with your junk.”

 

***

 

So, the third day of repairs was probably going to be the most awkward. Ramsay had done extensive damage to the most sensitive system. However, accidents to male Zynths weren’t uncommon; it wasn’t like the penis and testicles were the sturdiest structures in organic humans, to say nothing of synthetic ones. So it wasn’t alien territory to him. He mainly dreaded interviewing the Zynth about Ramsay’s “preferences.”

“Does Ramsay want you fully functional again?” Robb asked. “I mean, able to maintain an erection? Or does he simply want aesthetic repair?”

Theon was silent for a moment over the monitor, and he genuinely seemed to be thinking. Which meant he was uncertain and going through his memory to find a likely answer. “He uses that function occasionally,” he said at last, “so, yes. A full repair.”

“A _full_ repair?” Robb reiterated. “Ejaculation and everything?”

“Everything,” Theon agreed. “Could I request a ‘hair trigger?’”

“ _A hair trigger_?” Robb wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “As in…?”

“Premature ejaculation,” Theon answered simply. “Master enjoys calling me ‘wanton.’”

Robb had never had such a thing requested. On occasion he’d had to recalibrate models that were _too_ sensitive, but going the other direction…

He made a note of it. “Alright. Anything else? Specific size, shape?”

“Master has no preference.”

Of course he didn’t. Because it wasn’t really about being able to actually use the Zynth’s erection, was it? It was just another way to force humiliation onto an object that was unable to feel humiliation. Oh, yes, like Theon had said, he could imitate humiliation. The chromatophores in his skin could turn bright red to mimic embarrassment, and he could shrink in on himself like an animal trying to protect itself. But he would never be able to give Ramsay was he truly craved—the thrill of subduing another being’s will. That had to drive him insane.

Good.

“Okay, let’s get started.”

He installed the new penile system with all the professionalism he’d come to learn from his years as a repairman. Without the skin, it really did look like any other piece of machinery. He could even compartmentalize when he had to test by hand how sensitive the new penis was. If he ever started dating men again, his hand jobs would be mechanical and probably not very exciting. And it wasn’t like Theon was actually in there right now, in the body he was jacking off. Still, it felt odd to have him watch, so he pulled the thumb drive out and shoved it into a drawer.

 

***

 

“You were in there a long time,” Jon noted as Robb stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair. “You’re not…having another episode, are you?”

Referring to his tendencies to obsessively shower and bathe when he was feeling irritated. It had been the thing that tipped anyone off to his OCD, since it was one of the more “classical” symptoms he showed—the need to have everything clean and organized. But he hadn’t had an “episode” in years.

“No,” he answered, looking away. “I was…taking a cold shower.”

Jon held up his hands. “Okay, thanks for sharing.”

“You _asked_.”

“I didn’t ask about _that_.” The smirk from this morning was back. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the _package_ you got today, does it?”

“You’re being a twat.” Robb shoulder-checked him he passed, but Jon would know it was all in good fun. They’d always roughhoused together, being of a similar age. “But you know that, don’t you?”

Again, Jon held up his hands. “The girl I’ve been chatting to online says I don’t know anything.”

Robb paused at the end of the hall and looked over his shoulder. “You’re chatting with a girl online?” Jon had never had a girlfriend in his life, had never shown an interest in boys or girls. Robb had always assumed he was asexual.

Jon turned pink and smiled. “Just someone I met on okMaiden.”

“You joined okMaiden, Jon? _You_?”

“I wanted to meet people in the area I’m moving to,” he said guiltily.

And Robb had a sudden stab of guilt at making Jon feel guilty.

“No, that’s great, Jon. That’s really great.”

Jon ducked his head and gave a sheepish smile. “Maybe you should try it.”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“C’mon, it’s free to join. Yeah, you have to pay for some of the fancier stuff, but _you_ wouldn’t be using the fancier stuff. It’s not like it’s high-pressure to, you know, _do_ anything with anyone. You can just talk to people. The girl I met is super laid-back. _She_ ’s the one who messaged _me_. Maybe you’ll get a few messages yourself. You won’t know until you put yourself out there.”

Robb wrapped the towel over the back of his neck and cocked his head, as if in thought. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thinking about it” amounted to a seven-minute perusal that night. Robb started up his profile, got his username and password all set up, but then the next screen popped up: _In the box below, tell us a little bit about yourself. Don’t be shy_!

He tried, he really did. He began typing, _Hi, my name is Robb and I like working with robots_. He hit the delete button until it was all gone and started again. _I’m Robb. This is my first time trying anything like this_. He deleted that too. _I’m Robb Stark, I killed my father, Ned Stark, I hate myself._

He quickly hit the exit icon.


	5. Chapter 5

On the fourth day of repairs, Robb came down to the garage to see a large bag had been delivered. It was soft in his hands, and he knew the hair he’d ordered had come in. He could start the rerooting process, which was one of his favorite parts, even if it was time-consuming.

He plugged Theon into his computer and began opening the package. Dark, silky hair came pouring out. Genuine human hair. Robb couldn’t help but run his fingers through it. It slid like water. “What do you think?” he asked, holding it up to the webcam.

“Very nice,” Theon said as the camera zeroed in on the particular lock he was holding. “Is it soft?”

“The softest.”

“I wish I could feel it.” A beat. “I mean, when I’m back in my body.”

“You can’t feel if something is soft or not?” Robb asked incredulously.

“I can feel if something is _hard_ or not,” Theon said, and Robb felt himself growing warm again at the (probably) unintentional innuendo. “The pressure sensors under my skin can detect that sort of thing, but it’s not really useful on softer things.” Another beat. “But I know that soft is good. Master likes soft, and if it’s desirable to Master, then it’s desirable to me.”

“I’m going to get to work,” Robb announced, just to shut him up. He didn’t want to hear about what was “desirable to Master.”

He gathered up all the hair and carried it to the worktable, took a moment to compose himself, then picked up his needle tool and began threading the hair. Once a thick enough lock was made, he jammed the sharpened end of the needle into the follicle holes on the Zynth’s scalp, taking an almost savage pleasure in it. _I’m angry_ , he realized. _Why am I angry_? He pulled the tool free and began threading it again.

“I’ve been thinking about a backstory for you,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” It had occurred to him trying to fill out his dating profile last night. “I think that instead of being spoiled, you were lonely as a child. You never had anyone you could relate to, and you had trouble making friends.” He rooted the next lock. “But you knew that there was someone out there who would understand you, so you kept waiting and waiting.” Pulled the needle free and began threading it yet again, over and over. “And then, one day, the perfect person walked into your life, and you just couldn’t believe he was real, but you knew you could live happily ever after with him.”

“Master, I assume.”

“Yes,” Robb said with a particularly brutal jab into the Zynth’s scalp. “Your Master.”

“I…would have to check with Master, but I think he would like it. It definitely makes him the most important person in my life.”

“Yes, but do _you_ like it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Another jab. “Humor me.”

“It seems…sad.”

“Even with a happy ending?”

“But…I _know_ what loneliness is. Just like I know what happiness is. So if you put all of that into my files so that I can act in accordance with my backstory…I’ll have to remember how lonely I was. Back then. Without Master.”

Robb paused in the process of threading another lock. “Maybe Ramsay has the right idea of it.” Not something he ever thought he’d say. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t have a backstory.”

It took a long time to fill every follicle, but when he was done, Theon’s body had a head of thick, shiny hair. Robb got up onto the table so he could lay the Zynth’s head in his lap as he brushed it all to a smooth luster. With the new skin and hair, the Zynth could more easily pass for simply being asleep, rather than dead, so that’s what Robb pretended he was doing. Like, perhaps he’d become so relaxed from the gentle brushing that he’d fallen into a light doze.

“Have you thought about a style you’d like?” Robb asked.

“Oh, that’s okay,” said the voice that should be coming out of the body but was actually coming out of his computer halfway across the room. “I trust you to make it look nice.”

“You do?”

“You’re a very thoughtful and artistic person.”

“What—I’m…no I’m not.”

“Sorry if I offended you,” Theon’s voice said, turning quieter. “I’ve been watching you fix up my body these last few days and I was just stating my assessment. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“No, I…” Robb wanted to scratch at the back of his head, but there was a brush in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. He settled for gnawing on his lip. “I’m not offended. It’s just…nobody’s ever called me _artistic_ before.”

“Really?” The uptick at the end made him sound incredulous. “I think you have a marvelous sense of aesthetic.”

“Well, I…I did take an anatomy painting class in college,” Robb admitted. It had been one of his required courses for his biomechanics major—being able to know the human body inside and out was important for making Zynths look right. “I wasn’t very good at it,” he admitted.

“Art is more than pen on paper. Master is an artist, for instance.”

“Ramsay is an artist?” He found it hard to believe the man had a single refined bone in his body.

“He created me, didn’t he? From the ground up. All my specifications, every byte of data in my system. He created me for a purpose, and I fulfill that purpose every day. That’s what all machines were built for. To be useful to humans.” He trailed off, sounding almost wistful. “And I have that. I have a purpose, and Master gave it to me. That’s true art, don’t you think?”

_No_ , Robb wanted to say. Theon _was_ art. Maybe surreal art, or performance art. It didn’t mean Ramsay was an art _ist_. But Robb didn’t argue.

Instead, he powered up the Zynth so he could have it sit up while he gave it a haircut—for ease, while there were essentially two Theons at the moment, the personality would be a “he” and the body would be an “it.” That wasn’t…too dehumanizing, was it?

_Not a human_ , he reminded himself as the Zynth’s eyes opened.

Robb patted the chair. “Sit here for me.”

It did, its movements much more fluid now that all the joints were back in place. The skin went a long way towards cutting off the creepiness, but there was just…something. Like it was emerging from the Uncanny Valley but hadn’t quite made the very last slope. It climbed down from the table and sat up straight in the chair, legs back, head held steady.

Robb laid a blanket over its shoulders to keep unwanted hair off then turned the chair around. “You can still see me?” he asked, looking into the webcam.

“I can.”

“Good, then you’ll let me know how I’m doing?”

“If you trust my judgement.”

“It’s _your_ body. And _you’re_ the one trusting _my_ judgement, remember?” He began wetting down the hair.

“I’ve never really had a say in what happens to my body.”

“I guess not,” Robb agreed, thinking how fucking disturbing that statement would be coming from a human. But even disregarding Ramsay’s treatment, it was true that Zynths didn’t have the privilege of growing into their personalities and developing their sense of style. Most came premade from the factory. Theon had been custom-made and assembled before he’d been given any sort of consciousness, but there really wasn’t a way around that. A major facet of modern AI was the notion that you couldn’t have consciousness as humans understood it without first having a body.

Robb wondered about that as he carefully started trimming the bangs. “Is this the first time out of your body, Theon?”

“Yes.”

“You’re adjusting remarkably well.”

“Thanks. We Zynths are pretty good at rolling with the punches.”

“So right now you’re not aware of anything in your body?”

“I’m getting readings that my basic systems are on, but it’s not the same thing. I can’t manipulate them. I imagine I could, in theory, still feels things from over here if you turned my sensors on. It’s all just data that I could interpret wherever I am.”

“Yeah? Mind if I try it out?”

“Go ahead.”

Robb set the scissors down and turned the sensors on. The tiny little receptors just under the artificial skin could pick up three types of stimuli: heat, pressure, and sharpness. He ran his fingers lightly over the nape of the Zynth’s neck, testing the sensitivity. Something as simple as getting the hair to stand up still wasn’t a reality, by the body did jerk in reflex. At the same time, Theon’s laughing erupted from the computer across the room.

“That tickles!”

“Does it?” Robb grinned and made his touch even lighter.

Theon laughed harder, and even though it was only a programmed response, it still filled Robb with the same desire to laugh as well. He had a nice laugh, unguarded almost. Robb wondered if his voice had been donated by someone or built from scratch.

“That is so weird,” he said.

“Feels the way it always does,” Theon said.

“Well, I’m glad to see my new skin has taken to your hardware.” Robb turned off the sensors. “But I don’t need you jerking around while I do my highly delicate work.”

“You’ll probably need to test out my pain receptors too,” Theon called cheerfully. “You know, before I go back to Master.”

Robb didn’t say anything, just went back to cutting hair.


	6. Chapter 6

All the heavy lifting was done. All that remained was touch-up. New teeth to fill in the missing gaps. Toe- and fingernails for the new digits. Texturing the skin, giving it pores, moles, blemishes, whatnot. That alone went a long way towards adding more of a human-look to the Zynth. Robb scoured every inch of Theon’s body—and yes, that meant adding color and touch-up to the more sensitive areas as well. Honestly, it was just part of the job and nothing to be uncomfortable over. Except for the fact that Jon just happened to walk in as he was adding the finishing touches to Theon’s new penis.

“Gods!” Robb jumped up from his chair. “Knock!”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jon said, leaning against the doorframe, respecting Robb’s request that nobody but him enter the workshop proper. “Just checking to see if you were ready to go soon.”

“Go?”

“Yeah…my goodbye party down at the Wolf?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, right.” Robb shook his head, as if he could rattle some sense into his own brains. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten, more like he’d been hoping he wouldn’t be asked to remember. Because if it was already Jon’s going away party, that meant Jon would be _going away_. Soon. “I’ll…be ready in a few. Just give me a sec.”

Jon nodded but annoyingly didn’t leave. “So, this is what you’ve been working so hard on these last few days…” He glanced away from the Zynth’s erection. Robb started to stammer out a response, that he needed to make sure everything looked right and all that, but Jon was already plowing on ahead. “You do good work, Robb.”

“I…thanks.”

“I want you to promise me that you’re not going to work too hard after I leave.” Jon ran a hand through his hair, but it was difficult to tell if it was a gesture of frustration or simply habit. “I don’t want you wearing yourself down, alright?”

“Alright,” Robb agreed without really thinking.

Jon nodded but still didn’t leave. “I’ve heard you down here talking to it.”

Robb bristled. “I’ve been running personality diagnostic.”

“That wasn’t a judgement from me,” Jon added quickly. “I just…I’ve come home the last few nights to hear you talking to someone. Like, actually talking.” He drummed his fingers on the doorframe. “Have you given any more thought to what I said? About getting a Zynth of your own?”

“A little.”

Jon nodded. “You seem to like this one a lot. What model is it? Maybe we could find one on discount.”

“Oh, no, he’s custom ordered,” Robb said, draping a sheet over the naked form. It felt more respectful that way. “One of a kind. Very expensive, I’ve been told.”

“Too bad. Maybe you could make a backup of the personality. Or is that…illegal?”

“Not illegal, just…” _Weird_. “Unethical. Without my client’s permission, I mean.”

“Well…maybe you could ask him then.”

“Maybe,” Robb answered, because it was easier than saying, “I’m not asking Ramsay Bolton for shit.”

Jon didn’t know any of his clients and really only had a basic knowledge of what he actually did for a living. Perhaps he could extrapolate how most of the Zynths Robb worked on ended up damaged in the first place, but it wasn’t something Robb was ever going to spell out for him. He certainly didn’t want Jon knowing that Theon’s owner was a sadistic pervert with violent tendencies.

“Okay, I’m done here.” He stood and stretched. “Let me get dressed and then we’ll head on over to the Wolf.”

The Direwolf was a pub a few blocks from their apartment. The food was terrible, but the drinks were cheap and the atmosphere was welcoming. It seemed the whole neighborhood was out tonight, and as they walked through the door, every patron lifted their glass in toast and cheered. A big banner that read “Good luck, Jon” hung across the bar, and a few wayward balloons drifted around the room. Jon staggered back as if he were surprised, when actually they’d been planning this party for several weeks now.

“You guys…” He spread his arms wide and made his way around the room, hugging everyone in turn.

Robb felt remarkably out of place and settled into a nearby booth with Dacey and Smalljon, who had saved a spot and a beer for him. “Great job with the decorating,” he said.

Dacey gave him an icy glare. “Sarcasm isn’t really a good look on you.”

“What? No, I was being serious.” Robb lifted his beer towards the halfhearted banner and balloons. “Jon told me he didn’t want to make a big deal of things. I think it’s just right.” And it had been thoughtful of them. Even though they knew Jon, they were really more Robb’s friends.

“You’re looking glum,” Smalljon noted. “Care to tell us what’s up?”

Robb set his beer down and turned the glass in his hands, watching the way the cheap coaster began to soak through. He hated the coasters here, and he hated the ring marks on the table from where previous patrons had _not_ used the coasters. He considered his friends over the rim of the glass, scratched from countless passes through a washing machine. He’d known the both of them since he was a teenager. They’d always been there for him, even at the funeral, but somehow he couldn’t imagine opening up to them the way he did with Jon. What would they think if he told them about what was going on in his head all the time, about how the voices that whispered all of his flaws only went away when he slept? Or when he was in his workshop? They wouldn’t understand. Even his own mother didn’t understand— _You need to stop thinking this way, honey. You’re only beating yourself up_. As if it were that easy.

“Robb?” Dacey said, and Robb blinked back to himself. He realized he’d allowed himself to drift away for a moment. It happened.

“Sorry, I guess I’m just a little down about Jon leaving,” he said. “It just…it still hasn’t really sunk in yet, you know?”

They nodded and smiled sympathetically. Dacey leaned forward on the table. “You can always call us to grab a picture at the cine or something if you’re lonely. There’s no reason to shut yourself up in your workshop all the time.”

“Thanks.” Robb continued to turn the glass in his hands. Dacey was a pretty girl, a bit rough around the edges, but she always had a way of making him laugh. According to Sansa, Dacey had had a crush on him for years now. He considered what Jon had said earlier, about finding someone to date. She would probably say yes if he asked her out on a date, but…it seemed weird to him, wrong somehow. He spent even less time considering Smalljon. The guy was nice and all, but not Robb’s type. Nor was Dacey, for that matter. “I appreciate it, guys,” he finished lamely.

 

***

 

Robb couldn’t sleep. His brain was buzzing, and he couldn’t seem to get comfortable in his bed. Occasionally he would roll over and read the red numbers of the alarm clock on his nightstand. When he realized he’d been tossing and turning for three hours now, he finally threw back the covers and got up. He pulled on his trusty bathrobe and snuck from his room, tiptoeing. The snores coming from Jon’s room made him wonder if there was something wrong with _him_ —Why could Jon sleep when he couldn’t? Shouldn’t Jon be more nervous about the move than him? What _right_ did he have to be so cavalier about the whole thing?

He choked down these thoughts because he would not, _would not_ allow himself to become bitter at Jon.

It was nothing short of miraculous that he was able to slip out of the apartment and get all the way down the stairs to his workshop without making a single creak. Theon’s body was right where he’d left it, under the sheet. It looked like a child’s imitation of a ghost that way, just a vague shape all in white. Robb flicked on the lights. He went to the monitor and put his headphones on before plugging Theon in.

“It’s early,” his voice greeted, because obviously he had access to the computer’s clock. “You should be asleep, Robb.”

Robb stifled a yawn. “Couldn’t.”

The webcam whirred softly as it focused in on him. “Something’s bothering you.” It wasn’t a question. Zynths were disturbingly good at picking up facial queues; even the less sophisticated AIs could determine the proper emotion on any given face to within an 80% accuracy. “Is it something you can’t share with your roommate?”

“Not really.” Robb drummed his fingers on the desk. “He’s…kinda the problem.”

“Oh.” There was understanding in Theon’s voice. “Relationship troubles?”

“No, nothing like that,” Robb said quickly. “We’re cousins, not…” He sighed and scratched at the back of his head. “He’s my best friend, but he’s moving away tomorrow. And I don’t…I don’t know what I’m going to do without him around.”

Theon was silent for a moment. “You rely on him.”

“Quite a bit.” Robb rubbed his eyes. His body was tired. Now if only he could get his mind to that same place. “Sometimes…sometimes I feel like I’m treating him like sounding board. And I wonder if I’m more afraid of losing my sounding board than I am of losing my best friend, and I know that’s a horrible thing to think but it’s probably true.”

He’d never really voiced the _thoughts_ before. Sure, Jon knew he had them, but he didn’t know what they were, specifically, at any given moment. Constant and unwanted.

“I’m terrified of being alone with my thoughts, but I’m even more terrified of being around people. I’m always thinking, _How easy would it be to mess everything up right now?_ _What’s the worst thing I could say right now? What’s the worst thing I could do? Would everybody hate me? How would they react if I…?”_

He paused to breathe.

“But I don’t think bad things when Jon’s around, or at least it doesn’t bother me. He makes things ordered in my life, and I’ve been treating him like my nanny for so many years, I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to me when he leaves. And I hate him.” He squeezed his eyes closed in shame. “I hate him for leaving me. I hate him for having a life outside of me. I hate him for being able to just pick up and abandon all his responsibilities. I hate him, and I hate myself for hating him.” The next confession came out in a shuddering breath. “I’m a terrible person.”

“No,” Theon answered without hesitation. “Of course not.”

“Yeah?” Robb snorted ruefully. “Forgive me if I don’t take the word of a machine that’s programmed to tell me what I want to hear.” He shouldn’t be so biting, he knew. But he was so tired of holding his emotions in check these past few weeks, ever since Jon had announced the news. He was tired to pretending to be happy for Jon. And if he couldn’t take it out on Jon, he could at least take it out on a computer program.

“Um…” Theon’s voice was uncertain. “Is this perhaps one of those problems I’m not supposed to solve?”

“Yes,” Robb said. “I just need you to be quiet while I unload on you.”

“Oh…sorry, I’m not used to your queues yet.” Theon cleared his throat. Or made a noise meant to imitate the clearing of a throat, since he had no throat to clear. “I can do that for you. Do you need me to be back in my body?”

“What? No.”

“Then…how do you intend to unload on me?”

“I’m unloading on you now,” Robb said, massaging his temples to ease the frustration building there. Gods, it was like talking to a first gen model, the kind that always fell into circuitous thinking and could be overloaded by making them ponder paradoxes. “Why? What’s _your_ idea of unloading?”

“There’s usually a physical component, isn’t there? Perhaps you would feel better if you took out your frustrations on my body. Master is usually in a good mood after he’s expressed himself physically. I know you just repaired my body, but I think you’ll find I’m really pretty durable.”

Robb stared at the monitor for a moment, just letting that sink it. He couldn’t decide if it made him sad or angry, and angry at who? At Ramsay, for being such a violent, psychotic asshole? At Theon for acting like it was no big deal? Or himself, that he could be compared to Ramsay in any fashion?

“No, I don’t want to hit you or anything,” he said, finally deciding it was easier to be sad and accepting than angry. He brushed a hand through his hair and laid his forehead against the desk. “I’m a terrible person, but I’m not _that_ terrible, okay?”

“It wouldn’t be terrible. I won’t mind. I already told you, I can’t feel pain. I’m a Zynth, not a human, and part of my purpose is taking treatment a human wouldn’t be able to.”

“Yeah, but you look like a human and you act like a human, so my brain isn’t really going to be able to tell the difference.” Robb sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you or anyone. When I said I wanted to unload, I just meant…could you just listen, maybe? And not judge me?”

A bit of silence.

“If that’s what you want, of course.”

“Good.”

“What did you want to say to me?”

Robb sat up in his chair and thought. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I kinda got most of it out there. I’m angry at Jon, and then I hate myself for being angry at him.” Wow, it didn’t sound so terrible when he said it that way. Normal, almost. Now he felt bad about snapping earlier. “Thanks for listening.”

“Sure.” Theon’s voice went up a whole octave, straight into a cheerful trill. “And, you know, I’m happy to listen whenever. I mean, until I have to go back to Master. Then he’ll probably remove you as an admin. But until then…”

Robb pushed the wheeled chair back from the desk. “Yeah, I’ll probably be done with repairs by tomorrow or the next day. But thanks for—”

He jumped at the unexpected beep. He’d forgotten to turn down the volume on his desktop notices when he’d plugged his headphones in—not that he’d been expecting any notices this late at night…early in the morning, whatever. It was an email. From Ramsay.

_Oh Gods, does he know I have Theon activated on my desktop? Is he wondering what I’m doing talking to his program at this time of night?_

He clicked the message. It was short, to-the-point, and utterly confusing.

_Something came up. Keep my Zynth until I come for it. Not sure when. Do **not** delete any files. _

_—Ramsay_


	7. Chapter 7

“Well, look at it this way,” Jon said as Robb took the last of his suitcases and unloaded them from the shuttle. “Now you’ll have a Zynth to test-drive, see if it works out for you.” Jon took the suitcase and pulled out the handle so he could wheel it along. “It’ll keep you company the first few days, in any case.”

Robb just stood there until Jon grabbed his arm and pulled him under the terminal awning, out of the rain. Behind them, people passed in and out through the automatic doors. A mother and daughter paused and gave each other a hug, the sort of hug that said they would be seeing each other again soon, and then they parted cheerfully, the mother wishing the daughter a safe trip.

Jon noticed where he was looking and patted Robb’s arm. “I’ll call you when my plane gets in, okay? And I promise to check in every night until you beg me to stop.” He tried to smile, but he was terrible at fake smiles. “You’re going to be okay, Robb.”

“Yeah.”

“But only if you look after yourself.” Jon tried to catch his eyes, but Robb just couldn’t. Not today. “You have to promise me you’re going to look after yourself. Get out of the house. Go have a drink down at the Wolf every once in a while. Don’t work yourself sick.”

“I won’t.”

Jon sighed and pulled Robb in for a good, strong hug.

Robb didn’t so much hug back as he clung, gripping Jon’s raincoat as if for dear life. “I’m going to miss you,” he said, feeling his voice crack. He fought it back. “But I know you’re going to do well up North. I am proud of you. Really.”

“Thanks,” Jon whispered back in his ear. “That means a lot. And I’m proud of you too.”

Robb swallowed down a sob. He would not break and send Jon off with feelings of guilt. He loved his cousin too much to do that to him.

“Love you,” Jon said.

“Love you too,” Robb said back. “Take care.”

They parted. Jon went into the terminal, wheeling his suitcases behind him and fumbling for his boarding pass. Robb watched him get in line at the counter and then ducked back through the rain into the shuttle, which took him to the subway, which took him to within five blocks of his apartment/workshop. That was five blocks of walking the rain, but he hardly noticed. Not enough to even get his umbrella out. In fact, he really only became aware of himself again once he was inside, wiping his wet shoes on the welcome mat.

He set his coat on the heater to dry, kicked off his shoes and set them neatly by the door, then brushed the rain from his hair and trudged over to the television in the living room. He sat in his chair and flipped the TV on and watched some daytime movie with detached interest. After a few commercial breaks, he decided this really wasn’t distracting him, so he got up and headed down to the workshop.

He took the thumb drive with Theon’s personality in it and contemplated his next action for a good five or ten minutes. Finally, he paced over to his worktable and plugged the drive into the USB port behind the Zynth’s ear. He hesitated another ten seconds or so before turning the power button on.

Theon blinked his eyes. His pupils dilated as they scanned the room, until finally coming to rest on Robb’s face. “Are my repairs complete?”

“Mostly,” Robb said. “Just a few minor things to touch up still, but…” He shrugged. He still needed to clean up the personality files. He probably should have done that before loading the personality back into its body, but…

“But…?” Theon prompted.

“I was hoping you might keep me company.” Robb fiddled with his hands in his lap. “You said part of your function includes cooking?”

Theon turned his head to look at Robb. The motion was so smooth and humanlike; Robb might have mistaken him for human if he didn’t know the tiny little telltale signs to look for. “Yes.”

“Does that include mixing drinks?”

 

***

 

“I apologize if it’s not very good,” Theon said, eyes downcast under dark lashes. “Master doesn’t drink…girly drinks.”

“It’s great,” Robb said, taking another long drink. And it was. It was the best goddamned cosmo he’d ever had, probably. And Theon had fixed up a whole blender full of it. Good, keep them coming. He could already feel a slight buzz working at the back of his brain.

Theon smiled, and he had such a wonderful smile. Robb had to remind himself that it was designed to be alluring, but there was something about it…a little lopsided, which gave it character. Gave _him_ character.

He looked very domestic, barefoot and wearing Robb’s clothes, which were too large for him but preferable to having him walk around the apartment naked. If someone were to look in right now, without knowing the circumstances, they might think the two of them were a couple. One of those overly cutesy couples who shared clothes and couldn’t go five minutes without eye-fucking each other.

The thought made Robb blush, and he broke eye contact. _No eye-fucking_ , he told himself.

He swirled the contents of his drink and watched the clumps of blended ice cling together. “I guess it’s going to be you and me for a while,” he said, lifting his glass in a mock toast.

Theon smiled beatifically. “I look forward to getting to know you better.” He of course didn’t have a glass of his own, so he couldn’t return the toast. “I must admit, I haven’t quite determined how to act around you, Robb Stark. You’re very different from Master.”

“I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”

Theon continued to smile, even in the face of this insult to his beloved “Master.” _Just a mindless machine_ , Robb thought, shaking his head. _No sense in getting attached_.

“It doesn’t upset you, that you won’t be going back to your Master so soon?”

Theon set the blender down on the counter. “Of course it upsets me. Master is my purpose. But I understand that he does not need me right now, so I’m happy to stay out of his way.” His smile was sad, just slightly downturned at the corners. “In the meantime, I will serve you.” And just like that, his usual smile was back. Like the flip of a switch. “Is there anything else I can do for you? A backrub, perhaps? A foot massage?”

Robb contemplated that. Bran always swore by his physical therapy Zynth’s massages. And his shoulders were very tense from hunching over the computer so much. But it might be weird. Better not to cross any intimacy boundaries. After all, Theon was only on loan.

“Not right now,” he said finally, lifting his glass. “But I’ll take a refill.”

 

***

 

Robb woke up to sunlight cutting straight through his eyes and into his brain. With a pained groan, he buried his face into the pillow. Despite the throbbing in his head, there was something pleasantly warm and heavy draped over him, and he burrowed deeper into it. _Just a few more minutes_ , his body begged. _This is so nice_.

When he opened his eyes again, the clock on his nightstand read 10:34. With a groan, he sat up. The warm, heavy thing fell away. Then jumped back up to wrap even more tightly around him. Confused, Robb spun to see Theon next to him in bed, naked as the day he’d come out of the factory.

“Good morning, Robb.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, but now we're finally heading into Part II.

“Shit, shit!” Robb jumped out of bed, pulling free of Theon’s arms. His mind reeled as he tried to remember what had happened last night. With a growing horror, he realized he couldn’t.  The cosmos. He’d been drinking. Getting a bit tipsy. Okay, maybe a lot tipsy. His memories from last night felt like riding on a tilt-o-whirl. But he didn’t think he’d had enough to…

Theon was sitting up in bed, smiling at him as if nothing were amiss.

Robb was almost too afraid to ask. “What happened last night?”

“You said you’d had too much to drink, so I escorted you to bed.” He threw back the blankets, revealing himself, and suddenly, in this situation, it wasn’t as impersonal as it had been in the workshop. “Do you have a hangover? Get back into bed and I’ll bring you a glass of water and some aspirin.”

“No, I mean…” Robb steadied himself on the footboard. “I mean, yes, I have a headache. But I meant, did we…?”

Theon remained completely still, waiting for him to finish he question.

“Sex,” Robb hissed.

Theon shook his head, and Robb felt his heart flutter in relief. He let out a long sigh.

“You said you were cold. I offered my dermal radiating function. That’s why I was in bed with you. Though if you’re suffering from a hangover, I can see why you might think something sexual happened.” He sat up straight. “But I assure you, even though you are a guest admin, Master’s orders are still my absolute prerogative, and he does not want anyone else using me sexually. Without his permission. Which he has not given.”

Shit, Robb hadn’t even thought of how _Ramsay_ would react if something _had_ happened.

Theon swung his legs over the side of the mattress. “Get back into bed,” he said. “I’ll get you an aspirin and make breakfast.” He stood up, revealing the body Robb had been working on all week. Lean lines, skin and metal meant to imitate muscle and bone. There was nothing “off” about his movements; he moved like a human, now that everything was working correctly. “What would you like?”

“Could you put some clothes on?”

“Of course.” Theon picked up the jeans Robb had loaned him last night; they were folded neatly over the headboard. “The thermal function is more effective with skin contact.” He stepped into them one leg at a time, exactly the way a human would. “And you said you wouldn’t mind.”

“No, I guess not.” Robb scratched at the back of his head. “I mean, I’ve seen every inch of you. I just…I think we should have some boundaries. If we’re going to be spending time together.”

Theon reached for the shirt next. One of Jon’s that he’d left in the dryer. “If I make you uncomfortable, you can always power me down and store me somewhere out of the way.”

“I guess,” Robb said. “But I’d prefer the company.”

“Then I will endeavor to be the best company I can.”

 

END PART I


	9. PART II: VISCERA

And Theon was good company. He cooked and cleaned and kept Robb’s mind occupied with conversation for the first few days. It was nice.

He gave the personality files a more thorough going-over, and it still amazed him that Theon even knew how to react to any given situation with all his contradictory personality traits. Brash but shy, respectful yet irreverent. One file would dictate that he obey Master’s orders, while another would dictate that he rebel when faced with authority. One personality was opinionated, verbose, and outgoing; the other was withdrawn, meek, and silent.

The first thing to consolidate was neediness, since all three personalities had this and it was really just taking up unnecessary room in the memory. Robb sorted through the information, looking at all the jumbled letters, numbers, and symbols that went into making a personality trait. Normally, programming wasn’t his specialty—he was more a repairman than a creator—but he could navigate the intricacies well enough. “Neediness” boiled down to specific reactions in relation to specific stimuli. Human did _this_ , Zynth did _that_ in response; human said _this_ , Zynth said _that_ in response. Easy peasy. Simple. He got “neediness” pared down within a matter of minutes, all without changing any of the Zynth’s protocols.

Unfortunately, there weren’t many other clear-cut cases like that. Now it was a matter of ranking the personality files and where they deliberately worked against each other, giving one slight priority over the other so that signals weren’t fired to a complete standstill. This meant delving into Ramsay’s preferences, to see which trait would get priority, even if it was just a 1% difference over the other.

“Which does he prefer?” Robb asked. “Obedience or rebellion?”

“Obedience for sure,” Theon answered promptly. “But don’t erase rebellion.”

“I won’t.” Robb gave all the obedience-oriented files a slight raise in relevance. “And…willingness?”

He cringed as Theon seemed to think about it. “Unwilling,” he replied at last, but Robb probably could have guessed that on his own. “But he also likes willing and sometimes prefers me to initiate.”

It was more complicated than anything Robb had attempted before, but Theon talked him through it. By the time he was done, he had everything labeled and sorted into a completely new personality, which he called “Theon.” Ramsay would probably look through it when he came to collect Theon, but Robb didn’t especially care. He could rename it if he wanted.

“Do you feel any different?” Robb asked the first day after he made the changes.

Theon paused in the midst of flipping pancakes. “There’s a note of when the files were deleted, but I have no recollection of what they were.” He went back to cooking. “I suppose the short answer is I don’t know. Am I acting any different?”

“No,” Robb answered, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. “But then again, I guess I’m not the best judge of that sort of thing.” He realized that probably didn’t inspire the best of confidence. “I can do a full restore if Ramsay doesn’t like it. It’s just a matter of resetting your files to a time before I messed with them.”

Theon hummed noncommittally as he flipped the last of the pancakes onto a plate and slid them over to Robb. And then a mug of coffee. “I’m sorry,” he said, “you were out of cream and I wasn’t sure if you would approve of me going to the store to get some. Master does not let me leave the house unattended.”

“No,” Robb agreed, “it’s fine. I’ll take some sugar, though.”

He watched as Theon turned and reached for the container of sugar along the backsplash of the kitchen counter. Likely he could find where the nearest grocery store was and navigate there himself, but it was good he hadn’t. Theon was good in one-on-one interactions—remarkably human, even—but it was clear he hadn’t been socialized very well with others. There was no telling what would happen if he went out on his own. If he ran into some stimulus he didn’t know how to deal with.

Robb finished his pancakes (perfect) and his coffee (serviceable) without any further conversation. Theon hummed a song Robb recognized from the Top 40, something catchy and inoffensive about teenage love. When Robb was done, Theon took the plate and empty mug and ushered them to the dishwasher.

“Thanks,” Robb said. “Another perfect meal.”

“Always happy to serve,” Theon responded.

Robb pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going to head down to the grocery store before starting work. You okay to stay here by yourself for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” Theon replied. Which was only natural. Robb left him alone all day while he was down in the workshop, so this really shouldn’t be any different.

Robb left with his backpack and a list of things to pick up at the grocery store. Jon had usually been the one to do all their shopping. And cooking. He didn’t want to think about that now. He’d been on the phone with Jon every night this past week, and Jon seemed to be doing well. Or faking it well enough.

Instead, he turned his mind to his successful reorganizing of Theon’s personality. Perhaps he should think about going into the customized Zynth business. There was money to be made in it, for sure. He could still keep his repair business open on the side, of course. He didn’t think he’d ever give that up. But if he could buy his own parts and assemble everything, including the personality files, from the ground up, he would be able to turn a small fortune on custom jobs. He’d start by making one for himself, just to make sure he could do it.

For the first time, he truly considered what he would want in a Zynth. He had no notion of what it should look like, or even whether it would be a male or female. He knew it would be a companion, not a…not what Ramsay used his Zynths for.

He was almost excited now, thinking about the build and frame and voice and personality, as he walked back to the apartment, backpack laden with groceries. He came in through the front way leading in from the street and climbed the stairs to the two-bedroom loft above his workshop. “I’m home,” he called, unlocking the door. Even though Theon was here, he’d locked it anyway. Force of habit. Or paranoia.

When he stepped in, there was no immediate sign of the Zynth.

Robb set the groceries on the table. “Theon?” he called.

No answer.

That seemed odd. Had Theon put himself into idle mode or possibly even powered down while he was gone? Robb checked the living room and two bedrooms but did not find the Zynth hibernating anywhere. It was only when he stopped moving and stood perfectly still in the hallway that he became aware of the voices.

Down below his feet.

His workshop!

Forgetting the groceries for the moment, he ran for the back door and stamped down the stairs. Had someone broken in? Had Theon tried to fight them off? Was he running headlong into a dangerous situation? Shit, he probably should have brought a baseball bat or something to defend himself, but it was too late now. He was already on the bottom step.

Theon turned from the front counter with a smile. “Robb, you have a customer.”

Robb jogged forward and grabbed Theon roughly by the upper arm. “You’re not supposed to be in my workshop.”

Theon’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.”

Robb sighed.

“I heard someone ringing the bell and thought I’d assure your customer that you’d be back soon.”

“Fine, fine, it’s fine.” Robb released Theon’s arm and winced when he realized he’d left a handprint-shaped mark where the chromatophores were reacting to the pressure. Making a fresh bruise. “It’s fine,” he repeated.

“Is that your work?”

Robb’s head shot up at the strange voice. He’d only been dimly aware of his customer’s presence. Not one of his regulars. A new one. What a first impression he was making.

The man was tall and blond and impossibly good-looking. He could have been a Zynth himself. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. Money. Like most of his clients. He wasn’t carrying anything with him, though. In fact, his right arm was in a sling.

“Jaime Lannister,” he said, extending his left hand for a shake.

Robb took it and was taken off-guard by the man’s firm grip. Lannister, Lannister…he knew that name.

“How can I help you?”

Jaime released his hand and went to Theon. “This your work?” he repeated, eying him up and down.

“No.” Robb shook his head. “Yes. I repaired him, but I didn’t build him.”

Jaime took Theon’s hand and held it up, tracing the fingers awkwardly. “It was telling me you did the first and third digits here. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. The quality stands out from the originals.” Abruptly, he dropped Theon’s hand. Theon let it fall to his side and continued to smile as if a stranger hadn’t just come up and fondled him. Jaime turned to Robb. “I want you to make a hand for me.”

“Just a hand?”

Jaime shrugged out of his arm sling. Even with a glove on, Robb could tell that the prosthetic underneath was crude. “I need to do something about this. Do you think you can do it?”

Robb scratched at the back of his head. “Uh…you know, organic tissue isn’t really my specialty.” Or anything he was licensed to do. “You can probably get that taken care of at a clinic that specializes in that sort of thing.”

“No.” Jaime tucked his hand away. “This needs to be dealt with confidentially. I was told around town that you’re very discreet.”

Good. That was a good reputation to have.

“I already have the hardware for integration,” Jaime went on. “All you need to do is craft the hand. I’m willing to pay whatever you ask.”

Robb opened his mouth to reply.

“Please!” Jaime took a step forward and Robb took a step back. “Please, I’m a desperate man. I can’t…” He clenched his good hand, then released it. “My father can’t know this has happened to me. If I go to the hospital, it will be all over the papers. Because of who I am. If my father sees that I’m not…if Cersei sees…” He trailed off, clenching and unclenching his hand uselessly.

Robb felt his protests vanishing one by one, but not without a fight. What this man was asking was illegal. If he got found out, he could be prosecuted for practicing medicine without a license. But on the other hand, it was just so apparent that Jaime didn’t want these people—his father, Cersei, whoever she was—to know the truth of things, to see what had become of him and how vulnerable he was. Robb could relate. Gods, he could relate.

He scratched at the back of his neck and felt the last bit of resistance give way. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m sorry I went into your workshop,” Theon said, looking genuinely shamed with his head hung. “I didn’t know I was forbidden. Do you want me to leave?”

Robb sighed and looked up from his schematics. On the one hand, he was a bit annoyed that Theon hadn’t already left, but on the other, he was glad that Theon had hung around until Jaime Lannister had left. This was going to be a big project, with lots of pressure riding on him. After all, it was one thing to build an entire human being from his imagination, but it was something much different to replicate a real-life appendage from records.

Robb had never had much practice working from images, since such a thing was, strictly speaking, illegal when it came to Zynths. Using a person’s likeness, either living or deceased, had been declared unethical after a big class action lawsuit brought against the Zynth Corporation for its reproductions of celebrities. Not to say less scrupulous small-time business weren’t still doing it, but Robb was not one of those.

Well, now he was, technically. Except he wasn’t reproducing a real-life person’s likeness to satisfy a client’s fetish, but practicing unauthorized human-to-biomechanic medical procedures. The _thoughts_ told him there was no way he could hope to get away with this. Someone would find out. He’d lose his business. He’d lose his apartment from all the legal fees he’d be forced to pay. He’d lose everything he’d worked so hard for. So, yeah, he could use a little moral support at the moment.

“You’re fine,” he answered. “I’m just a bit particular about things.”

“I didn’t touch anything,” Theon said. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked again.

Robb shook his head. “No, you can stay. But maybe stay somewhere out of the way.”

He heard Theon’s light footstep and turned to see him positioning himself against the far wall where Robb kept the broken Zynths that were beyond repair. These he used for spare parts, and seeing Theon amongst their unmoving, shrouded forms caused a sudden shiver to run up his spine.

“Is this good?”

“It’s fine,” Robb said and quickly looked away.

He turned back to the schematics. He had Jaime’s measurements, taken from his left hand, as well as pictures to work off of. Jaime had not deigned to explain what had happened, and Robb had not asked. He just needed to make a prosthetic that was more than passing; it had to match perfectly, fingerprints and all. Lucky for him, Jaime was willing to wait, so Robb had time for this undertaking. First things first. The endoskeleton.

He turned back and looked at Theon standing among the wall of discarded Zynths. They were mostly female models, but he could probably find one with a large enough endoskeleton to work as a base for Jaime’s hand. “Do you think you could look under those sheets?” he asked. “If you find one that looks like a fit for Jaime Lannister, let me know. Preferably one whose right hand isn’t damaged too badly.”

Theon caught on and nodded. He began lifting up the white sheets and peering underneath. Some were standing, some were seated or slumped over. All were mangled beyond what Robb could hope to fix. He wondered if it was ghoulish to ask Theon to do this for him. Was it akin to making a human walk through a morgue and choose which organs should be harvested? Theon wasn’t complaining. But then again, he _wouldn’t_.

His face was unreadable as he moved from one broken form to the next. He paused to look at each one. When he came to a particularly small shape hunched in the corner, he paused even longer. Robb wondered what he was looking at. It was evident from here that the broken Zynth was no match for Jaime Lannister. Finally, Theon looked up, edge of the sheet still grasped in his hand. “This one used to belong to my Master, didn’t she?”

Robb stepped away from the worktable and came to see which one of Ramsay’s old Zynths Theon had found. Theon held the sheet up so that Robb could see the face, or what was left of it. It was White Jeyne.

She had been a standard Jeyne model. They came in and out of Robb’s shop on a regular basis, since they were basic and relatively cheap for the quality. This had been Ramsay’s third Jeyne. She was supposed to be delicate and sweet-looking, but she was neither, as Ramsay had caved in the side of her head. Her single eye stared vacantly into space; the other had been pried out, and only a knot of wires was left in its place. 

“Yeah,” Robb said, answering Theon’s question. “She did. Why? Do you recognize her serial number of something?” That was a bit silly. First, her physical serial number had been lost when her left arm had been torn out of its socket. Secondly, she was non-operational, so there was no way Theon could get into her files to find out what her serial number could have been. And thirdly, how would he even know her serial number. Unless Ramsay made a habit of talking about his previous Zynths all the time?

“A feeling, I guess,” Theon answered. “It seems like his work.”

_His art_ , Robb thought sardonically.

Theon lifted the blanket back and squatted down. He ran a hand up and down the still-intact side of White Jeyne’s face. “She wasn’t sturdy enough.”

“No one was built to take the sort of treatment Ramsay deals out.”

“I suppose I’ll end up like her sooner or later.”

“I tried to fix her,” Robb said, perhaps a bit too defensively. “I tried, but she wasn’t…salvageable.” _And now I use her for spare parts_. He scratched at the back of his head.

Theon didn’t seem to have heard him. Instead he reached out and swept a tangled bit of hair out of the Jeyne’s face. “It’s alright,” he said to her in a hushed tone. “I know you didn’t mean to let Master down. He asks so much of us. But what else can we give him?”

Robb stood watching, feeling as if he were intruding on something private, intimate. It was odd because Theon wasn’t reacting to any real sort of stimulus—human does _this_ , Zynth does _that_ —but rather he seemed to be introspecting. It reminded Robb of when he’d waxed poetic about Ramsay’s “art.” But even then, another human had been at the root of his introspection. This was just one Zynth to another. Sympathy, perhaps. Whatever that meant to a robot.

He was afraid to disrupt the scene, so he waited until Theon was done. He pushed the lid down over her one open eye, then stood and drew the white sheet over her form once more. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to Robb. “You gave me a task to do, and I was sidetracked.”

“That’s okay,” Robb said. “Why don’t you go up to the apartment? There are groceries on the counter that need to be put away.” That had been over an hour ago. The perishable stuff had probably already perished.

“Don’t you want me to help you find a hand?”

“I’ve got it.” Theon didn’t need to be here when he started dismantling broken Zynths. He shouldn’t have asked in the first place. “Go upstairs and make sure nothing has spoiled.” There. A direct order.

Theon nodded and went up the stairs without any further argument. Robb made sure he was gone before he went back to work. He eventually found a hand that would do for a base. He was glad Theon wasn’t around when he began cutting the synthetic skin back so he could unscrew the hand from the wrist.


	11. Chapter 11

Theon was very quiet that night when Robb came up for dinner. His cooking was as perfect as always, but gone were the idle pleasantries Robb had come to expect. It was unnerving, because something was obviously going on, and yet Theon continued to smile as usual.

“You don’t have to smile all the time,” Robb said as Theon began clearing the dirty dishes from the table.

“I like to smile,” Theon countered, not missing a beat. “Master so often doesn’t want me to smile, though. I thought I was getting a good response out of you. Your own smile is ten percent wider when I smile, but if you’d rather I didn’t…” His smile immediately vanished. “I apologize for all the liberties I’ve been taking with my behavior. I really should ask permission first.”

“No, I mean,” Robb said, “you don’t _have_ to smile all the time, especially if something is bothering you.”

“Bothering me?” Theon didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder as he rounded the breakfast bar and headed for the sink. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been ruminating. About what you saw in my workshop.” Robb drummed his fingers along the table. “With Jeyne.”

“That’s impossible. Zynths don’t ruminate. My thoughts don’t work that way.” The dishes clattered in the sink. “Ruminating implies a preoccupation with what happened in the past, and I only access my memories for how to act right now. As in, this moment, right here.”

“Theon…”

“If I was ruminating, I’d insist you call me Reek, because that’s my name. It’s the name my Master gave me, so it would be sentimental to me. _If_ I were human. Which I’m not.” The water began running. “I’m not a human,” he repeated. Robb had to strain to hear him over the faucet. “I don’t age or get sick. When I break, I can be fixed. And if I can’t be fixed, I can be replaced.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me. I told you, I don’t ruminate.”

“Are you concerned that Ramsay’s going to replace you?” Robb stood. Theon was mechanically   scrubbing the dishes in the sink as Robb came up behind him. “Or are you concerned that he’ll eventually damage you so badly that I won’t be able to fix you?” Robb reached over his shoulder and turned the faucet off.

Theon allowed it and just stood there, plate dripping water down his arms and into the drain.

“I remember when I first learned about death,” Robb said, taking the plate from Theon’s unresisting hands. He set it on the counter and then took Theon by the hand and led him back to the dining table. “I was five years old. Our neighbor’s dog had a litter of puppies. One day my father came home with them, all six of them. He said the mother had died and the neighbor didn’t want to take care of them. I didn’t understand what he meant, so he sat down and explained to me.

“He said that the mother didn’t want to leave her puppies but that she had to, because she’d been hit by a car and her body had been so badly hurt that she couldn’t use it anymore. I was so upset.” He chuckled, remembering how he’d burst into tears. Not because he’d really understood, but because he’d been so sad that the puppies would never get to see their mother again. He’d asked where the mother was if she wasn’t in her body anymore. His own mother had used the opportunity to explain the Seven Heavens to him. The Seven Hells were a lesson for another time.

“Even then,” he went on, “I never really got it. Death was just…something that happened one day. I never seriously thought that _I_ would die. Not until…” He trailed off. “Not until my father died.”

Theon was silent, perhaps waiting for him to continue. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to, Theon asked, “Your father…didn’t die of natural causes?”

“No.” Robb laughed mirthlessly and shook his head. “No. I killed him.”

He hadn’t meant this to be a confessional. He looked up to gauge Theon’s reaction.

The Zynth was staring at him with a curious expression. “You caused his death,” he clarified, “accidentally?”

“Through my own recklessness and arrogance.” Robb scratched at the back of his head. “Yeah.”

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want.”

“It’s not big secret.” Robb realized he’d scratched his neck pretty deeply and slapped his hands on the table to keep them where he could see them. “I was fifteen. Dad was teaching me how to drive. I’d been studying for my license. It wasn’t even the first time I’d driven.”

He remembered the first time his father had taken him out in the car, how everyone had congratulated him when he’d come back, how proud his parents had been of him and how proud he’d been of himself as his father explained how well he’d done.

“But that day…” He picked at the cuticles on his fingernails. “Sunny day. Not a busy road at all. Not that time of day. We were coming up on a stoplight. Dad said, ‘Alright now, ease on the brakes.’ And I did. I took my foot off the gas. But for some reason, when my foot wasn’t connected to anything, I…I got confused. I put my foot on what I thought was the brake and…and the car kept going. And Dad, he’s saying, ‘The brake! The brake!’ So I slammed my foot harder and the car just goes faster and then we were out in the middle of the intersection and there’s this big truck coming up on us.”

He took a deep breath, realizing he’d been running everything together.

“I don’t remember anything after that. I woke up in the hospital and Dad was…” He swallowed thickly. He could still remember the beeping of the machines and the sound of voices out in the hall. A concussion, a broken sternum, and a shattered right arm. He didn’t remember, but he saw pictures of the accident. People said he was lucky to be alive. His father had died on impact. “I lost control,” he finished, “and my father is dead because of it.”

Theon was quiet, and Robb looked up to see if he was even still listening. Of course he was. He was watching with sympathetic eyes. For some reason, that caused Robb to bristle. He hadn’t been fishing for sympathy, especially not from an android.

“I know,” he said, sitting up straight. “Doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see where my control issues come from.” He wiped at his eyes and found them mercifully dry. “So, you know, you’re not the only one with a complex about death. It _is_ pretty final.”

He was startled at the feeling of a warm hand on his own. He looked up and saw Theon reaching across the table. His skin was so warm. Did he have his thermal function on?

“If Master breaks me again,” he began slowly, “you can fix me up.” Then he smiled.

Robb was shocked into silence. It seemed Theon had a way of doing that to him.

“Yeah,” he agreed at last, forcing his own smile. And maybe, with Theon, it was that simple. Something breaks, you fix it. “Of course I will.”


	12. Chapter 12

It took little over a week to finish Jaime’s hand. The cosmetic stuff only took half that time, carefully reconstructing the hand from still images; the major work went into the wiring, since a human’s nervous wiring was different from a Zynth’s. For instance, Zynths fingers moved independently from each other, whereas in a human hand, the fingers were grouped together by nerves—the index to the middle finger and the ring finger to the pinkie. Robb wanted it to work like a human hand so that, hopefully, Jaime wouldn’t have to do too much relearning. He spent several hours simply pouring over his old anatomy books, making sure everything worked right.

Theon left him to work and never bothered him in his workspace. Though the first day of working alone, Robb realized that he wouldn’t mind a little company. He didn’t dare call Theon down. The Zynth had not had a rebound of melancholy, and he wouldn’t risk it by exposing him to Jeyne and the other damaged robots. Instead, he kept his mind occupied with the classical music station. It helped him to think of dexterous hands creating music from the notes of long-dead composers.

There had been no news from Ramsay, and Robb was beginning to worry that he was getting used to Theon’s presence. He woke up every morning to the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen and came up from work every evening to a new meal laid out on the table. Theon made light talk. They discussed music and art. Robb liked music; Theon liked art.

“I like the works of Barristan Selmy,” he said when Robb asked what his favorite artwork was.

“A bit macabre,” Robb replied as he sipped coffee. It turned out Theon could make a damn good espresso, given the right ingredients.

“I’ve taken a renewed interest in it since our conversation the other day. The use of only red paint, dyed from his own blood, to demonstrate the horrors he’d seen during the war…” Theon stretched out a hand and studied his arms, as if searching for the veins there. Robb hadn’t given him any, since most people considered them unsightly and preferred their Zynths not to have them. “Master has a reproduction on his wall. ‘A Feast for Crows.’ One of his later and more well-known pieces. It’s said to capture the stillness of death after battle. I never truly appreciated it before, but I will look at it again when I am home.”

_Home_.

“What about you?” he said, changing the subject and leaning forward on the table with his elbows. “I’ve heard you playing music while you work. Do you have a favorite composer or specific piece?”

The conversation had gone back to pleasant after that. It turned out that Theon understood music in a more theoretical sense than anything else. It was a bit frustrating not being able to describe _why_ a piece of music was moving, but Robb supposed that made Theon’s art appreciation even more impressive. To have a purely mathematical understanding of one form of art and a more human understanding of another…Theon was definitely unique.

He had Theon present when Jaime came to pick up his hand—it should be alright since business would be in the front of the shop while all the broken Zynths would be in the backroom. Theon was happy to be of service. Occasionally Robb felt guilty that he wasn’t giving the Zynth enough to do to occupy his time. He did wonder what Theon got up to when he was alone all day. Today he greeted Jaime at the door. “Welcome back, Mr. Lannister.”

Jaime smiled uncomfortably and nodded. Then tiptoed around Theon and came up to the counter. “Your Zynth…he’s not…” He leaned one arm—his good one, predictably—on the counter and lowered his voice. “You’re not a narc, are you?”

“Nnnnno?”

“And your Zynth isn’t some sort of…surveillance android?”

“I have your hand right here.” Robb figured his best proof that this wasn’t a sting operation was to present the finished product. He took the box out of the cubby under the counter and set it in front of Jaime. Ceremoniously lifted the box and turned it around for him to inspect its contents. “Make sure it’s to your liking while you’re here so I can make adjustments.”

Jaime shot one last skeptical glance over his shoulder at Theon, then reached into the box for his new hand. Robb had to help him, much to the other man’s displeasure. He grunted in annoyance and waved Robb off. “I’ve got it.” He laid the hand out flat on the counter and squatted down to be on eye-level with it. He examined it from every angle before standing up straight and saying, “It’s perfect. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was my own severed hand lying there.”

Robb laughed weakly. “Is the size right?”

Jaime set his left hand on top of the new one. “Perfect,” he said again. “Although I’ll probably have to scuff up the nails a bit. Cersei would never believe I had them manicured.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a billfold. “How much do you want?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve got an untraceable card here.” He managed to fish it out of his billfold one-handed and brandished it at Robb. “You don’t know what it means to me that you came through on this. Name a price.” He started to hand the card over, then jerked it back quickly. “Within reason.”

“I don’t know. A thousand gold dragons?”

“Tell you what. Let’s make it ten and call if fair.”

“Ten…ten _thousand_?”

“You need more?”

“No!” Robb fairly screamed. “No, ten thousand is…very generous.”

Jaime handed the card over and watched with an amused grin as Robb ran the card. For some reason, Robb was expecting a trick of some kind, but everything went through fine. Non-traceable, the money went into his account instantly. Jaime, of course, didn’t sign anything. The trick would be when it came time to settle his books. Gods, was he going to have to _launder_ this money?

“Consider it hush money,” Jaime said with a wink as he put his new hand back in the box and tucked it under his arm. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Theon held the door open for him and chirped a far-too-cheerful, “Good day, Mr. Lannister.”

Jaime side-eyed him, tiptoed around again, and left through the door.

Robb was still in a state of shock when Theon allowed the door to close to the soft tinkling of the overhead bell. Ten thousand gold dragons? He’d never made so much from a single project. He sat on his stool to gather his thoughts.

“Are you alright?”

Robb looked up, startled to see Theon giving him a concerned look.

“I’m…” He leapt off his stool and took Theon by the shoulders. “I’m fucking fantastic!”

Theon automatically smiled. He likely didn’t understand the cause of Robb’s good mood, but he was more than happy to join him for an impromptu bit of dancing. His step was awkward as Robb tried to lead him in a waltz, and he kept wanting to look at his feet.

“You’re awful,” Robb laughed.

“Sorry. I can download some dancing functions. There’s room in my memory now.”

“Do it,” Robb said. He could always delete it later. But for right now… “I want to celebrate, so I’m taking you out tonight.”


	13. Chapter 13

Smithsday night at the Direwolf. Happy hour. The place was packed.

Probably not the best place to bring Theon on his first official outing. Too bad Robb hadn’t really thought about that.

Luckily, they’d barely set foot inside when Smalljon called out to them and waved them over. “Been saving a spot for you all week on the off chance you’d show up,” he said, raising his mug in mock toast. “I suppose we could make it two, though. Dacey, move your fat ass over.” He bumped her with his hips in a classic “scooch” gesture.

“ _I_ have the fat ass?”  She scoffed and bumped him back, pushing him to the end of the booth so that Robb and Theon could move in. “So, who’s your friend? And why’s he wearing Jon’s clothing?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Cool your jets, Dace, he’s a Zynth.”

“Well, obviously,” she said, taking a pull from her own mug.

Robb wanted to ask what gave him away, but it was obvious when he glanced over. Theon was doing that _smiling_ thing again. The thing that had creeped out Jaime Lannister so much. He’d have to teach Theon how to smile more naturally around others. He did just fine when it was the two of them.

“This is Theon,” he said. “I’m watching him while his owner’s away.”

“Branching out into Zynth-sitting?” Smalljon mused. “I thought the whole point of a Zynth was that you could shut it down when you’re not using it.”

Robb shrugged. He didn’t feel like getting into details. “This is Theon’s first time around a lot of people, so could you two be nice to him?”

Smalljon blinked in surprise. “Yeah, sure,” he said after a moment.

“Theon, these are my friends, Dacey Mormont and Jon Umber. We call him Smalljon.”

Theon’s pupils contracted as he studied them. “That’s an ironic nickname,” he commented as he took in Smalljon’s height and general size. “Master has a friend named Skinner. That’s not an ironic nickname.”

Robb’s face grew hot as Dacey and Smalljon threw each other confused looks.

“What have I missed since last time?” he rushed in to change the subject.

Smalljon shrugged his massive shoulders. “Nothing too terribly interesting.” He took another swig and swished it around in his mouth in thought. “Oh, Karstark got himself kicked out of here a few nights ago.”

“What? Which one?”

“Which one do you think?”

Robb thought for a second. There were three Karstark brothers—“the Brothers K” they called them—and while they were all pretty rowdy, if he had to choose one for a troublemaker, it would probably be, “Harald?” At a nod from Dacey, he chuckled and shook his head. “What did that asshole do now?”

“Got very belligerent with one of the customers,” Smalljon said.

“That creepy guy,” Dacey interrupted. “You know the one. Skinny guy. Kinda slimy-looking. Has a goatee like a bad guy in an action movie. Seen him around a few times, don’t know his name. Everyone calls him Littlefinger.” She shuddered in what could only be disgust. “Markets himself as a ‘purveyor of flesh-and-bone flesh.’”

“A pimp of humans,” Smalljon clarified.

“Anyway, we think that’s what Harald’s deal with him was. Was all up in Littlefinger’s face, something about Satin, Satin not returning his calls, wanting to know where Satin is. I wasn’t really paying attention because I don’t want to think about where Harald Karstark sticks his dick, but Littlefinger _must_ have said something, because the next instant—”

“Karstark has him knocked out flat on his ass,” Smalljon laughed raucously.

“Are you telling me I missed an honest-to-gods bar fight?”

“More like a scuffle,” Dacey said. “Smalljon and I had to help wrestle Karstark to the ground, but after that, he calmed down and left on his own.”

“A bit disappointing,” Smalljon said.

“Didn’t even have to call the cops,” Dacey agreed.

“When was this?”

“Just a few days after Jon’s party,” Dacey answered. “Oh, before everything went down, Littlefinger was over here. Asking about you and your Zynth _services_. Wanted to know if you were ‘on the level.’”

Robb balked at that. “What’d you tell him?”

“Told him to fuck off,” Smalljon said. “Figured there was a level of pervertry even _you_ wouldn’t stoop to.”

Robb punched him playfully in the shoulder. Even if he put all of his strength behind it, he probably wouldn’t be able to hurt him. “Just for that, all your drinks are on me.”

“On you?”

“My treat.”

Smalljon stared into his mug for a moment. “Well, shit, I’m getting another.” He shuffled his way out of the booth.

“You’ve always had a generous heart,” Dacey said, once Smalljon was at the bar and putting his order in, “but not always the most generous wallet.”

“I’ve come into some money recently,” Robb answered with a wry grin. Or, at least, he hoped it was wry.

Dacey eyed Theon again. “All on the level, of course?”

“Of course,” Robb answered.

She seemed unconvinced but reclined against the stiff leather seats anyway, letting it go. Robb was glad. He hadn’t really thought about how to explain his sudden increase in income.

“So…” she began, looking at Theon, “you’re a Zynth? Can’t say I’ve met many Zynths. What did you say your name was again?”

“Reek,” he said. “But Robb calls me Theon, since I’m part of the Pantheon Erotic Companion Series.”

“ _Erotic_ Companion?” Dacey laughed, giving Robb an incredulous look.

“You can call me Theon too,” Theon barged on ahead. “A nickname, if you will. Though I haven’t decided if it’s ironic or not.”

“Like I said,” Robb coughed awkwardly into his hand, “he’s not mine. He’s just staying with me for a while.”

“Ri-ight.” Dacey nodded and turned back to Theon. “So, Theon, what do you like to do?”

Theon’s face became blank for a second as he tried to process this question. “I like to do whatever my Master likes me to do,” he answered at last.

“Oh?”

“I like serving my Master and making him happy.”

“For the record, _I’m_ not his Master,” Robb jumped in to say. His face was already alarmingly hot.

“I see.” Again, Dacey looked unconvinced. “But what do you like to do when your Master isn’t around? What do you do for fun?”

“For Gods’ sake, Dace, he’s a Zynth, not a person.” Robb hated himself for having to say it, but it was true. Zynths weren’t people, and people who insisted on treating them as such were in for a big disappointment. Like those people who treated their dogs like people. Most of his clients knew this, were aware of this unspoken rule. But every so often, he’d get that one client—that little old lady whose Zynth was her only friend, that shut-in whose Zynth was his girlfriend—who insisted their android was a human with its own thoughts and desires, not something programmed to provide the illusion of humanity. It wasn’t fair to the Zynth. And it certainly wasn’t healthy to the human to attribute free will to preprogrammed behavior.

“Well, what else am I supposed to ask him?” Dacey asked defensively. “Got any new updates lately? Or ask in binary? Zero-one-one-zero-one-one?”

“I just meant, he doesn’t know how to talk about himself. He likes listening to people talk about themselves, though.”

“I do,” Theon said. “Robb has told me a little about you, Dacey Mormont.” He sat up straighter and put on his most charming smile, the lopsided one he used on Robb, which cause Dacey’s shoulders to untense. It seemed she wasn’t immune to him either. “He told me you teach mixed martial arts in a dojo here in town.”

“Uh…yeah…” Dacey blinked in surprised. “My family’s dojo, actually.”

“So, you’ve been training since you were young, I take it?”

“Five years old.” It was good to see her defensiveness falling away. “Hey, I know something I’ve always wanted to ask a Zynth. Can you, like, download martial arts into your…database or whatever?”

“I can, but since I’m not programmed specifically for combat, it would also take a great deal of physical training as well.”

Dacey nodded. “I’ve been thinking about getting a basic kind of Zynth to help me out at the dojo. For demonstrations and everything.”

“A basic Jon or Jeyne unit might work. Their motions tend to be a bit more limited, but maybe Robb could help you out with that.”

“I…uh, yeah,” Robb said. Honestly, he was surprised Dacey had never brought this up to him before. “I could give you a good discount. I’ve…been thinking of moving into customizing Zynths myself, so if you want something that can go hand-to-hand like a human and that’s still fairly durable…” He trailed off. Theon had been made to those specifications, made to take a beating and enjoy it.

“Robb, I teach nine-year-olds. I’m sure they couldn’t do that much damage to it. But I appreciate the offer anyway.” She tipped her head back and finished her beer. “Anyway, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about. I’d need to save up a little bit of money for it first. Speaking of which…if you’re honest about treating us to drinks, I’m going to help myself to another as well.”

With that, she got up and headed for the bar, dancing around Smalljon as he returned laden with the two largest mugs the Direwolf had to offer, overflowing. He grinned as he sat back down, slid one mug in front of Robb, and took a long drink from his own. “Sorry I didn’t get one for your friend. Wasn’t sure if he drank or not,” he said, wiping the foam from his beard.

“He doesn’t.”

“Shame, that.” He took another long draught. “You’re a good lad, Robb. You should come by more. You know Dace and I are here most nights.”

“I know.”

“How are you getting on without Jon?”

Robb shrugged. “I’m getting used to it, I guess.”

“Keeping him company, are you?” Smalljon nudged Theon and lifted his mug in mock toast. Gods, not Smalljon too. He laughed knowingly and then turned back to Robb. “You talked with Jon at all?”

“A few times.” Once a day for the first week, but now that Jon was more or less settled in to his new place up North, the calls had been less frequent, every other day or so. “He sounds like he’s doing well.”

“Good.”

“He’s been on a few dates with the girl he met online.”

Smalljon’s eyebrows rose, as if he were impressed, but didn’t say anything. Which was uncharacteristically smart of him.

“You know,” he began after taking another drink—Robb hadn’t even touched his yet—“if you ever want to get out of the house sometime, you only need to call. You’ve got my number, right?”

Robb nodded.

“I just—it can’t be healthy, being cooped up with only a computer for company all day.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ah, no offense meant.” Smalljon lifted his mug towards Theon in what might have been a mocking toast. Theon continued to smile blandly. “You’re not offended, are you?”

Theon shook his head.

“See? That’s what I mean. You need some _human_ interaction, Robb. So why don’t you pick a night to just…shut that thing down and come out with me and some of the boys? Get drunk. Make mistakes. Live a little bit, you know. The human condition and all that.”

“Yeah,” Robb agreed, forcing a smile and tamping down the bristling of his hackles. There was nothing to be offended about. Smalljon was concerned for him. That’s what friends did. They worried about each other. Worse, Smalljon was probably right. He didn’t get out as much as he should. He floundered when there wasn’t someone around to tell him what to do. He should take the offer. “Yeah, man, I’ll check my work schedule and get back to you.”

Smalljon smiled, and he seemed to be the only one at the table who was genuine. Theon was still smiling that off-putting smile, and Robb’s cheeks had begun to hurt from holding his rictus grin.

“You gonna drink?”

In answer, Robb lifted his mug and downed half the mug. The Direwolf’s cheap beer seared the taste buds from his tongue and burned all the way down his throat, but he kept going until he needed to come up for air. “Guess so.”

Smalljon laughed and clapped him on the back so hard it threatened to bring the beer back up. “That’s what I like to see!”

“I came here to celebrate.” Robb tried to finish the rest of the beer, but ended up spilling most of it down his chin and onto his shirt. He resolved not to care and shoved his mug at Smalljon. “Be a friend and get me another?”


	14. Chapter 14

He woke up on a park bench. It was still dark, but the first rays of light were breaking over the city. Despite the chill late-autumn air and his short sleeves, he was comfortably warm. Probably because Theon was wrapped around him. Again.

They needed to stop doing this.

The night was a blur but not a total blackout. He remembered leaving the pub with Smalljon. There had been a strip bar (Smalljon’s insistence), a tattoo parlor (Robb’s insistence), and several acts of wanton, petty vandalism. The shopping cart they’d stolen from the mini-market was dumped over on its side, looking about as beat-up as Robb felt.

He groaned and sat up. Theon helped him, put a steadying hand on his back. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, I guess.” His neck cracked as he turned his head. “I shouldn’t have had that second drink.”

“No,” Theon agreed.

“You didn’t think to stop me?”

Theon shrugged. “It’s not my place.”

Robb couldn’t disagree with that. Even if Theon had been a protection Zynth, you couldn’t protect someone from themselves. Especially if they didn’t want to be protected.

“I did stay with you all night, though. Even when Smalljon was taken away for disorderly conduct.”

“Oh, shit, I’ll probably need to bail him out.” Robb started to stand. And, again, Theon helped him. “I do appreciate you hanging around, though. Thanks.” In a way, it was remarkably intuitive for a Zynth. He had vague memories of Theon standing off to the side as he and Smalljon hopped from one place to the other, watching their antics but never involving himself. A less-advanced model would be asking for instructions, or perhaps even simply returning home to wait for its human’s return.

Once he was on his feet, he made his way over to the shopping cart and righted that as well. The metal was all bent and mangled, and it caused the previous night to come rushing back up Robb’s throat. He was able to turn and direct himself at the nearest tree as the first wave of vomit heaved its way out of him.

Gods, he’d been reckless last night. More reckless than he would have been if he were alone. It had seemed like childish play at the time, him riding in the carriage and Smalljon pushing. But what if they’d hurt someone? What if they’d damaged more than a few of the city trashcans? What if they’d gotten into a _car_?

Theon was at his side, like a loyal dog, patting his back in gentle motions as he continued to retch and heave. “You…you’d never let me get behind the wheel of a car if I were drunk, would you?” he finally managed to get out. His tongue burned with the aftertaste of bile.

Theon stared at him. “I was under the impression you didn’t have a license.”

“I don’t.”

“In that case, I suppose I’m legally obligated to—”

“That’s an order!” Robb snapped. “If I’m ever drunk again and I try to drive, you need to stop me. I give you permission to do it any way you can, but don’t let me…” He turned and grabbed Theon’s shoulders. “Please. Don’t let me hurt anyone, Theon.”

Theon was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I won’t.” He allowed Robb to lean heavily on him while he caught his breath. “I’ll store it in my memory as a permanent order. You promise to take care of me when I’m broken, and I’ll promise to take care of you the rest of the time.” He smiled. Not the creepy smile he’d used on Jaime Lannister, but a genuine smile that wasn’t too tight and showed just enough teeth to be inviting rather than unnerving. “At least until Master comes to get.”

Aaaand…he had to go and ruin it.

“Would you like to go home now?”

“I should probably check on Smalljon first.” Robb reached for his phone, found it wasn’t in his pocket, and remembered Smalljon chucking it into the river. “On second thought, Smalljon can wait. Let’s go home.”

“An aspirin perhaps,” Theon suggested. “Are you in pain?”

“I’m pretty good, all things considered.”

“That’s good. You were bleeding a lot last night.”

“Bleeding?”

“At the tattoo parlor.”

Oh, right. Robb remembered going in and picking out a tattoo with Smalljon, but not actually getting one. He pulled away from Theon to take better stock of himself. Everything was sore and achy, but his upper right arm felt a little…tingly. He pulled his sleeve up and sure enough, there was a bloody mess under the taped-on clear wrap. He pried it off to reveal a…something.

“What is that supposed to be?” he asked, genuinely baffled. “A sasquatch?”

“A werewolf,” Theon answered. “At least, that’s what you asked the artist to put on you. Although…” His smile curled up at the edge.

“Yeah, go ahead and say it,” Robb sighed.

“I would hesitate to call that man an artist.”

Robb snorted. “It’s pretty awful, isn’t it?” He let his sleeve fall down, covering the monstrosity. “What did Smalljon get?”

“Are you asking what he asked for or what he got? Because he _asked_ for a giant breaking free from chains.”

 “And he got…?”

“Not that.”

Robb burst out laughing. Theon followed suit. It didn’t matter that he was just following Robb’s lead. It felt right, at that moment, between them.

 

***

 

Theon had downloaded the aftercare instructions into his short-term memory, which was a good thing because either Robb or Smalljon had lost the paper instructions somewhere during the night. Turned out he wasn’t supposed to wash the area for several days, so he ended up taking the world’s most awkward shower, half in and half out of the stall while the water pooled on the linoleum floor.

As he stood toweling his hair off in the mirror—after mopping up his mess with a few extra towels—he had time to really look at his new ink. His first tattoo. And it was ass-ugly. It looked like a deformed little man with what might charitably be called a wolf’s head, hunched and clawing at the air with its misshapen hands. As he stood there, steam condensing against the mirror, he realized he’d had it placed over one of the more prominent scars…from the accident. Had that been intentional? He didn’t remember.

In any case, it was there now. Another permanent mark from another stupid mistake. Just not a life-alteringly stupid one. He had the money to have it removed now, but perhaps it would be better to leave it. A reminder to keep himself under control in the future, to never let himself slip as he had last night.

He came out of the bathroom to the smell of breakfast cooking. His stomach heaved with emptiness. He made his way to the kitchen. Theon had made pancakes.

“I figured it would be easy on your stomach,” he explained, adding another cake to stack of perfectly even flapjacks. He set the plate on the breakfast bar, inviting Robb to have a seat and eat.

Robb did. The pancakes were too much to resist. The first bite was heaven. He moaned.

“How hungry are you?” Theon went back to the stove. “Should I make another batch?”

“Keep them coming.”

Theon began pouring more batter into the skillet. Robb listened to the satisfying hiss, the scrape of the spatula against the Teflon pan, the soft song Theon hummed as he worked. Another one of those bland Top 40 songs. He probably had a good voice—with the ability to perfectly control his vocals—but he was no musician. He was an art lover, after all.

Robb paused, chewing another mouthful of pancake. He reached for the glass of orange juice Theon had set out for him and used that to wash the bite down. “Theon…you like art, right?”

“I like to think I can recognize good art,” Theon answered.

“Have you ever tried it before? Painting, I mean. Drawing.”

Theon looked up from the stove. “No.”

“Would you like to?”

The Zynth thought.

“It would be interesting to try.”

“Would you like to help me cover up my tattoo?”

Theon’s eyebrows pinched together. “It’s still too new.”

“Yeah, I mean when it’s healed. Would you like to put something on top of it?”

“I…may not be any good at it.”

Robb chuckled at that. “You couldn’t possibly do worse than this.” He hiked up his shirt to show off his tat.

Theon’s smile quirked the way it had in the park. He paused to flip another pancake over. “I’ll try. By which I mean, yes, I would like to fix the damage done to your skin. It’s only fair to repay you for doing the same for me.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray for more cameos!

Robb bought a sketchpad and some high-quality pencils for Theon to try out his art skills. When he presented it, Theon broke into his widest, dorkiest smile yet and clutched it to his chest for several minutes. “I’ve never been given anything…to keep before,” he said finally. “May I come down to the workshop with you today? I want to practice drawing you while you work.”

“Oh…” Robb scratched at the back of his head but wasn’t sure why. “Yeah, sure.”

They were heading down the stairs into basement when Robb realized he should take care that Theon wouldn’t see Ramsay’s old Jeyne model. He jogged the last few steps and hurried towards the sheet that covered White Jeyne’s body. He started to shift her when he heard Theon say, “Could you leave her?”

“What?” He looked up to see Theon standing there, sketchpad still clutched to his chest, his face unreadable.

“That is, unless you were _planning_ on getting rid of her,” he said, casting his eyes down submissively.

“No,” Robb said, “I wasn’t. I just thought you might be more comfortable if…” He trailed off, suddenly afraid that he’d given Theon the wrong idea: _I’m throwing this worthless thing away_.

“I don’t want you to throw her away. And you don’t have to hide her on my account.” It was a bit unnerving, how perfectly still he could stand. “I feel an attachment to her.”

“It doesn’t bother you to see her this way?”

“Of course it bothers me.” Theon smirked. It seemed almost self-deprecatory. “But it bothers me more to think of someone hiding her away because her existence is an inconvenience. Especially if it’s for my sake.”

“Hey.” Robb stood and raised his hands, a subconscious act of showing he was unarmed. “I just want to make sure you’re not…I’m fine with however you want to deal with it.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Robb asked back.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with my comfort, Robb. I’m incapable of feeling uncomfortable.”

“I don’t believe that.” Robb reached out and put his hands on Theon’s shoulders. His skin was soft, but the unnatural hardness underneath belied his true nature: a cold, metallic being. Artificial. “You feel things, Theon. And I’d prefer it if those feelings were pleasant.” He paused and grimaced. “Desirable.”

Theon lifted his gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be questioning you. I’ve grown lax in my duties as a companion Zynth.”

“You’re fine.” Robb ran a hand through the soft hair he’d painstakingly put on Theon’s head. It was still as silky as the day it had come in the mail. “In fact, you’re the most remarkable Zynth I’ve ever worked on. And I’ve worked on _many_ Zynths.”

Theon’s chromatophores gave his cheeks a becoming pink hue.

“Speaking of which, I need to get to work.”

“Of course. I’m holding you up.”

Robb decided to let that one slip. He went to his workbench while Theon took a seat on a stool in the corner and, balancing his sketchpad on his knees, took out his pencils. He began making lines on the paper, but from this angle Robb couldn’t see what, just that Theon would look up every few seconds before returning his attention to the page. The skritching of the pencils was a nice background noise, so Robb forewent the radio and instead pulled the tarp off his latest project.

The tarp fell away to reveal the Zynth’s perfectly carved features. She had dark skin and beautiful hair that had been braided with the utmost care. Really, there was not much aesthetically Robb had had to do. This one wasn’t a pleasure Zynth, not since she’d been rescued from the scrap heap by her current owner and reprogrammed to be a hospitality Zynth for a major corporation. She’d been damaged in an accident, stabbed through the chest by a disgruntled employee who hadn’t realized she wasn’t a real person. Robb had patched her up, made the gaping wound in her chest vanish. A few final touches were needed, but not many, and her owner (or, at least, her owner’s underling) would be by to pick her up in an hour or so.

Robb added a bit of color to her lips and cheeks to give her a more lifelike feel. It was nice working with a Zynth that was so well-looked-after. He wondered again about the owner; he’d only spoken with the underling.

As he worked to bring more life to her face, Theon worked to bring life to his page. They fell into an easy pattern, so deep that Robb was startled by the ringing of the courtesy bell. He checked the clock on the wall. How had an hour and a half passed so quickly?

He hurried to the counter to see the grim-faced underling. He was middle-aged, on the blander side of plain-looking, but a pleasant-enough man from their first interaction. “Is she ready?”

“She is.” Robb leaned on the counter, arms folded. “Would you like me to pack her up or do you want her walking on her own?”

“Oh, I’m getting a bit old to carry heavy luggage around,” the man answered with a slight chuckle.

“Got it. I’ll have her online in just a sec.” Robb poked his head into the workshop. “Theon.”

Theon looked up.

“Could you do me a favor and boot up the Zynth on the table? I need to fill out the client’s receipt.”

“Sure.” Theon set his pad and pencils down and stood.

Robb turned back to the customer counter and brought up the client’s information. “Targaryen Industries,” he said. “Name on file is Danaerys. That right?”

“My overseer, yes.”

“And you’re authorized to sign for her company?”

“I am.”

Robb nodded and flipped the tablet around. “Sign here.”

The man did, using the stylus Robb provided. “She’ll be very happy to have her Zynth back. She’s always been fond of it, but it may very well have saved her life. If it had been a human, it would have collapsed and allowed the attacker access to her office.” A strange look came over his grizzled features. “I should have been there.” It was so quiet, he might have been speaking to himself.

“Well, she’s right as Winter’s first snow now,” Robb said, acting as if he hadn’t heard.

The man looked up and blinked in surprise. “Yes. Of course. I had heard you were the best Zynth repairman in the area.” He had finished signing moments ago but only now did he realize he was still holding the stylus. He quickly handed it back to Robb. “I was wondering, on a purely personal note—nothing to do with my employers—do you do customs?”

“Not officially, but I’ve been thinking of going into the business.” Robb put the tablet and stylus away. “I might be willing to give you a discount, since it would be my first whack at it. If not, I’m more than happy to refer you to customizers to accommodate you.”

The man—Jorah, it looked like, from his signature—waved his hand. “I’m willing to pay whatever you want. I just…have something very specific in mind.”

Robb raised his eyebrows, curiosity piqued.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced his own tablet. “I was wondering if you’d be able to make me a Zynth that looks like—” He turned the screen around to show Robb. “—this woman.”

It was a candid shot of a young woman with platinum-blonde hair, dressed smartly in a dress suit as she gave some sort of presentation to a board room. She was very pretty, Robb had to admit, but he pushed the tablet away. “I’m sorry. I can’t use a real person’s likeness. It’s illegal.”

“Yes, I know.” Jorah continued to hold the tablet out, as if Robb might change his mind. “I had just heard that…you might be able to work around that.”

“Not unless I want to end up in court.”

“I could make it worth your while.”

“Whatever you pay me, if I get caught, I’ll end up paying twice that in fines, most likely. If I don’t get time in jail on top of everything.” Robb shook his head. “And even if I could get away with it, I still wouldn’t do it. Because it’s morally repugnant. This woman…does she know you want to use her face for your sex Zynth?”

His face paled. “No, no, it’s nothing like that.” He finally tucked the tablet away. “Please, you misunderstand. I’m looking for a _companion_ Zynth. I would treat her like a _real_ person.”

“Even though she wouldn’t _be_ a real person?”

The bead curtain in the workshop doorway rustled, and both men turned to see the hospitality Zynth emerge, followed by Theon. She smiled demurely and nodded upon seeing Jorah. He smiled back, though Robb was glad to see if was professional and friendly. He’d pegged Jorah as a dirty old man, and with a beautiful former pleasure Zynth…

“I’m glad to see you up and about again, Missandei,” he said as she came to join him.

“I’m glad to be back. Will we be seeing Mistress Daenerys soon?”

“Indeed. We’ll be heading back to headquarters just as soon as I’m finished up here.” Jorah put a hand on her shoulder and steered her to the side, a bit patronizing. There was treating a Zynth like a Zynth, and then there was treating a Zynth like a child. Robb was even more sure of his decision now; no way a man like Jorah would ever treat a Zynth like a “real person.”

Theon came to stand by his side as he approved Jorah’s payment on behalf of Targaryen Industries. Jorah was polite, but it was obvious he wanted to get out of there. When he was done, he gave a cordial nod and turned to the female Zynth. “Let’s go, Missandei.”

She nodded in returned and followed behind him, hands tucked together at waist-height, head slightly downcast. Jorah paused at the door, and she paused with him.

“I know she wouldn’t be a real person,” he called over his shoulder. His eyes slid to Theon. “Sometimes a pleasant illusion is the most us mortal men can ask for.”

Before Robb could ask what that meant, he had pushed his way through the door. He held it open for the Zynth, then allowed it to close with the soft tinkling of the bell overhead.


	16. Chapter 16

Robb couldn’t stop thinking about what Jorah had said. Well, maybe not _what_ he had said.  Robb had worked with Zynths for most of his adult life. He understood intimately the danger of anthropomorphizing machines. He’d seen it in hundreds of customers. He _knew_ Theon’s friendship was an illusion. He wasn’t _stupid_. But it was the _way_ Jorah had said it. A man so devoid of human companionship that he was willing to take what he could get. Willing to embrace the illusion rather than live in a reality he couldn’t handle.

Robb didn’t think he was that desperate. He had friends. He had Dacey and Smalljon and a handful of others he saw down at the Direwolf. In high school, he’d been popular, a member of the football team, class president, friends and hangers-on galore. Of course, that had all changed after the accident. He’d had to take two months off of school to recover from his physical injuries, and when he’d returned…things hadn’t been the same.

Jon said it was his imagination. Sansa said it was his imagination. Arya and Bran said it was his imagination. But it felt like everyone was avoiding him. His father had been a prominent politician, and his death had been in the newspapers. Everyone knew what had happened. Everyone knew it was his fault. They’d replaced him as class president during his absence. He was invited to attend football matches but had to sit out, since his broken leg precluded him from participating. So mostly he stayed home. Attended summer school when there were fewer students. Caught up on his classes and graduated early.

Went to university. Jon had followed. His first semester, he hardly left his dorm room. Didn’t go out partying or drinking. Didn’t join any clubs. Didn’t socialize with the other students. Just studied and occasionally went to the on-campus gym late at night, when he was reliably the only person there. The only problem was, when he was alone, that was when the thoughts started making themselves known.

_Your fault._

_Nobody likes you. Nobody can even stand you._

_You should end it._

<No, Jon will be the one to find me.>

_Then do it where he won’t find you._

<Mother will be sad.>

In truth, that might have been the only thought that kept him from doing something stupid. The thought that his mother still loved him, despite everything, despite the fact that she blamed him—he _knew_ , even though she never said, that she did blame him. He’d even at one point had a plan. He was going to ask to borrow Jon’s car and crash it on the highway. Wrap it around a guardrail. They’d say, _What was he thinking, getting behind the wheel again? After what happened last time_. But they’d write it off. Except, what if he hurt someone else with his plan? What if he killed another innocent person? No, not worth it.

 That had been the darkest time. But he’d gotten better, dammit. He’d found something he could _do_ with his life. He could _fix_ things. And he’d had Jon to pull him back from the brink, whenever he wandered too close again.

But now Jon was gone. And Theon was here. And Theon was reliable in a way no human could hope to be. He was understanding and he took care of Robb and he lov—

It was an illusion. He knew that.

He knew it.

“Would you like to see what I drew today?”

Robb blinked and realized he’d been drifting off. The television program that had meant to get his mind off these things was droning on, completely useless. But Theon was standing at his side, sketchpad in hand and hopeful look on face. Like a child eager to show their parent their latest artwork.

“Sure,” Robb said, and took the pad as Theon offered it.

He had filled at least five pages, which was impressive on its own. The quality of the drawings was remarkable. Perhaps not of any artistic merit, but Theon had done a remarkable job of transferring the images to the page in meticulous detail. Almost photographic. Things he’d seen in the workshop: a row of tools, a broom propped in the corner, the broken and tarp-covered Zynths lined along the wall, Missandei’s serene face. Robb bent over Missandei, paintbrush held delicately between his fingers as he worked.

“They’re very good,” Robb said. “This last one…” He held out the portrait of himself. “It’s very flattering.”

“I just drew what I saw.”

“Yeah, but…you did a really good job of making my face…” _Look not-so-weird_. “Nice.”

Theon blinked. “You have a nice face, Robb. Symmetrical, nice features…”

Robb snorted facetiously. “Nice try. You’ve used that line twice now.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“Not lying, no. Being nice.”

Theon twisted his mouth. “I only drew what I saw. Perhaps, when I am more accomplished, I can draw what I feel. And _then_ you can say that I’m just being nice.” He took the sketchpad gently from Robb’s hands. “But until then, you’ll just have to accept that you’re the one who’s biased here.”

“Biased?”

“You don’t think very highly of yourself. It’s not something I understand. But for whatever reason, you think the world should reflect your self-image. You assume everyone sees you the way you see yourself.” He looked down at his drawing, and a small smile graced his face. “This is how I see you through my eyes—my facial recognition systems, as my default programming would have me put it. When I’m better at drawing, I want to show you how I see you through my eyes in the more metaphorical sense.”

Robb was stunned and didn’t know how to react.

“The kitchen’s all cleaned up,” Theon went on, setting the sketchpad down. “Unless there’s anything else you need, I think I’ll shut myself down for the night.” He started for the couch, where he usually settled himself in to “sleep” and recharge.

Robb stood. “Theon.”

He stopped when Robb called him. “Yes?”

“Would you…would you sleep with me tonight?” He clenched and unclenched his hands at his side, realizing how awkward the words sounded once they left his mouth. “In my bed, I mean.”

“I can’t authorize you to do anything sexual.”

“No, I know. I just…don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Without pause, Theon came to Robb’s side to take his hands. “Do you want me to warm up my skin?”

“Yes, please.”

“You don’t have to say please.”

“I like saying please.”

“Then I won’t argue with you. I like whatever you like.”

Robb couldn’t decide it that made his current insecurity better or worse.

They climbed into bed together. Robb had his pajama bottoms on and had instructed Theon to leave his clothes on this time, even if it meant less heat to be shared between them. Robb had never shared a bed with anyone, not since his occasional bouts of sharing with Jon when they were young. When nightmares had him too terrified to even go down the hall to his parents’ bedroom. He’d snuggle in beside Jon, both dogs with them on a single twin bed. A “puppy pile” his mother had called it, since she’d inevitably been the one to find them like that in the morning.

Now, Robb pulled Theon close, the way he had with Jon, arms wrapped around his middle. The way Theon fit into the curve of his body, it was almost like he’d been custom made for Robb. His skin was warm beneath his thin shirt, and Robb pressed his cheek to the wide expanse of his back.

“I’ve decided,” he said lazily. “When you have to go home, I’m not getting a Zynth for myself.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll never be able to find another like you.”

“I’m sure I’m easily replicated.”

“You’re not,” Robb said.

Theon was silent a moment. “Perhaps Master will let you make a copy of my personality.”

Robb shook his head against Theon’s back. “It won’t be the same. It won’t be you.”

“I’m nothing special, Robb.”

“That’s just your bias talking.”

Very slowly, Theon rolled over in his arms until they were face to face. The darkness hid the perfections of his face. He looked more human that way. “I understand what you’re trying to say. But the difference in our biases is that you are human. And I am not.”

Robb brushed his fingers through the silken hair. “I know. Gods, I _know_ you’re not human. My rational brain _knows_ that. But the rest of me, it’s saying that doesn’t matter. You look like a human and you act like a human and that’s good enough for my empathy centers.”

Theon was quiet, his face unreadable.

“Can I…” Robb leaned forward. If Theon were a human, he’d be able to feel his breath against his own. “Can I kiss you?”

Theon didn’t reply immediately.

“Is that…sexual?” Robb asked, uncertainly.

“I don’t know. Master never kisses me. I don’t think he’d like it if I allowed someone else to kiss me, though.”

“Oh…” Robb pulled his hand free of Theon’s hair. “I understand.”

He started to pull back into his own space, but Theon cupped his face with his blazingly hot hands. “Perhaps I won’t tell him.”

He leaned in and Robb leaned in to meet him. Theon’s lips were warmer than a human’s, though probably because his thermal function was active. Robb didn’t care. His mouth was as soft as a human’s, velvety and yielding. Robb didn’t dare ask for entrance, though. He knew the inside would be dry and would immediately ruin the illusion. So instead he contented himself with a closed-lip kiss, pressing as hard as he dared, funneling his need and insecurity into it. Imagining Theon taking it all from him. The thoughts, the fears, the uncertainties.

It was a shame Ramsay never kissed him. He was a good kisser.


	17. Chapter 17

“Do you trust me?”

“For the hundredth time, yes.” It was beginning to irk Robb, partially because Theon wasn’t the type who needed to be told to do things twice but also because he was getting uncomfortable holding this position. Sitting backwards on a dining chair, arm held out at an odd angle on the table, Theon prodding at his exposed skin.

“But…you don’t want me to tell you what I’m going to draw into your skin? Permanently.”

“I trust you,” Robb reiterated.

And he did. He’d watched Theon’s drawing come along over the last week and a half, at a speed no human could hope to match. He had gone from having to look at a thing to properly draw it to drawing that thing from memory to eventually drawing something he could conjure from his imagination. Yes, his imagination wasn’t fully developed yet, but Robb didn’t need anything outlandish. He just needed something to cover the wolfman on his upper arm.

“Draw whatever you want.” He reconsidered. “Just…don’t draw me, okay?” Since that seemed to be his favorite thing to draw, over and over again. “I don’t want to look at my own face every time I take off my shirt.”

“Got it,” Theon agreed. He started the tattoo machine. Robb had thought it prudent to buy a new one. Cleaner that way, so worth the money. Not only that, but it might be seeing at least a second use. Dacey had told him Smalljon was regretting the tattoo he’d gotten on their night on the town together as well. Theon had neglected to mention Smalljon had asked for it to be placed on his ass.

The whirring was not conducive to relaxing, and yet Theon had the audacity to say, “I need you to relax.” His gloved hand traced over the sterilized patch of skin. “I’ll be doing a lot of straight lines.”

That intrigued Robb enough to hold himself perfectly still as the needles hit his arm. He gritted his teeth against the pain and vowed not to move. He didn’t want to ruin Theon’s straight lines.

The tattoo gun worked down his bicep in a steady rhythm, punching ink under his epidermis and leaving blood in its wake. The first line done, Theon turned his wrist and began another. Robb was torn between watching and looking away so that it would be a surprise at the end. And though the laying down of ink itself was fascinating, it wasn’t half so mesmerizing as Theon’s eyes. The way they moved back and forth, as if he were reading, the way his pupils contracted or dilated as he focused in on a particular area. A human might have worn a look of utmost concentration, but Theon looked cool and relaxed, since most of his secondary emotions would be diverted during work. And his seemingly relaxed state helped Robb to relax.

By the time he announced he was done, Robb felt like he’d been punched repeatedly in the arm. He looked down as Theon turned to shut down the tattoo gun. It was mostly a bloody mess, and Theon returned quickly to wipe it away with a clean cloth.

The wolfman was gone. In its place, the illusion of torn-away flesh revealing circuit boards and microchips, all rendered in lifelike detail. Robb stared at it. Marveled at it.

“Do you like it?” There was that familiar quality in Theon’s voice, the need to please.

“It’s beautiful.” Robb brushed his fingers ever so slightly along the lines of the wires. He never would have thought to get something like it, but it was fitting. Far more fitting than a wolf-headed man. “It’s perfect.”

He stood up and worked the kinks out of his shoulder while Theon pulled off a sheet of saran wrap. Robb had to admit he hadn’t really taken care of the first tattoo, but he intended to follow the aftercare instructions to the T for this one. He was still admiring it when Theon laid the clear wrap and taped it down.

Their faces were so near, Robb felt the urge to lean in and capture Theon’s lips again. He restrained himself. That one time had been a…well, not a mistake, because he certainly didn’t regret it. It had been a…one-time thing. An admission of vulnerability, similar to when he’d opened up about his relationship with Jon and the accident that had killed his father.

“You’re a regular artist,” he said instead.

“Thank you,” Theon said. “I’m glad that you, at least, like it.” His cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink. A reaction to his programming telling him to appear modest? Or perhaps a physical reaction to a pre-programmed emotion? Did it matter?

Robb found he didn’t care to fight it anymore. Theon had been living with him for little over a month now, but it felt as if he’d always been there. He was getting used to the Zynth’s presence, and that could be dangerous. He was beginning to think of Theon as his.

He didn’t know if he was dreading or looking forward to Ramsay’s return. Whenever that would be. He hadn’t heard so much as a peep from the psycho.

Theon began cleaning and disassembling the equipment with utmost care. He worked with the same efficiency he did everything else. It was also mesmerizing, so much so that Robb jumped when the downstairs buzzer sounded. A client? He’d flipped the “closed” sign. Apparently that wasn’t enough to deter whoever it was, because they rang again.

He stood and slid his sleeve down. Even if he had to turn them away, he didn’t want to great any customers with blood and ink on his arm. “Keep cleaning up,” he instructed when Theon looked up, unsure whether he should follow or not. “I’ll just be a sec.”

He made quick work of the stairs and fumbled his way through the beaded curtain to the front desk. There were two shapes behind the frosted-glass panel. Robb frowned. “Sorry, I’m not open right now,” he called out. “You’ll have to come back some other time.”

“Mr. Stark?” a man’s voice called back. “Mr. Robb Stark?”

“Yes, that’s me. But I’m—”

“This is the police. Open up immediately.”

 

END PART II


	18. PART III: FLESH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Robb and Theon's idyllic fluffy life comes to an end...

Robb felt a sudden lump of ice in his gut. The police? What would they possibly want with him? Had they found out about the illegal work he’d done for Jaime Lannister? He opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow and peeked out. The two men standing there were dressed in matching police uniforms. Shit, they appeared to be legit.

“Can I see some badges?”

“We don’t need badges, you little shit,” the larger of them snarled. Larger…by far. Guy looked to be about seven feet tall.

He made to batter the door, but his partner put a hand on his chest to stop him. “Show him your badge, Clegane.” He then reached into his breast pocket and produced his own. “I’m Officer Tarly and this is my partner, Officer Clegane. Now, are you going to open this door or are we going to have to come back with a search warrant?”

Robb unlatched the chain with a shaking hand. “Am I in trouble?” he asked, pulling the door open and stepping back to let them through.

“That depends,” Officer Tarly said. The big officer, Clegane, barged in and made straight for the front desk. He immediately began pawing through the papers laid out there. Robb opened his mouth to protest, but Tarly shot him a look. “Do you know a Ramsay Bolton?”

Robb blinked. He hadn’t been expecting this to be connected to Ramsay, but perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. “He’s a client of mine.”

Tarly nodded. “Are you aware that he’s under investigation?”

“For what?” Robb winced. “Do I want to know?”

A crooked smirk worked its way onto Tarly’s face. He was a middle-aged man with a hard face. Though his partner was the larger of the two, it was easy to see who the more intimidating was. “So, you’re aware of Mr. Bolton’s proclivities?”

“I…uh…” Robb scratched at the back of his neck.

“Do you know Mr. Bolton’s whereabouts at the moment?”

Robb scratched harder. “No. I haven’t heard from him in over a month. I mean, I don’t know the guy too well. I only repair his Zynths, but…”

“Where do you keep your transactions?” Officer Clegane growled.

“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Tarly said, shooting a stone-cold glare at his partner. This actually caused the man to stop his rampage, which had left paper and tools scattered all over the floor. Robb rankled at it, but tried to focus on what Tarly was saying. “We were able to track Bolton’s money to your business.”

Robb shrugged. “Like I said, I haven’t seen the guy or talked to him. He dropped off a Zynth for repair. I got a call about a week later that he wouldn’t be able to pick it up.”

Something sparked in Tarly’s eyes. “So…you still have the Zynth?”

“Yeah.” Robb felt uneasy admitting it. He didn’t want these men anywhere near Theon, especially if Clegane’s less-than-gentle treatment of his workshop was anything to go by.

“We’ll need to confiscate it,” Tarly said before Robb could protest. “It will need to come with us.”

“What?” Robb gaped. “No. There’s no way Theon…whatever Ramsay’s done, he’s had no part of it.”

“It’s evidence in a criminal investigation,” Tarly said.

“Where is it?” Clegane asked.

Robb felt his rankling turn to a full on bristle. No way was this man putting his hands on Theon. Police officer or no. “I don’t suppose you have a search warrant.”

Clegane growled. Like a dog.

Tarly’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure, son?” He took a step forward, forcing Robb to take a step back. Robb hated himself for not standing his ground. “Are you _sure_ you want to go this route?”

Clegane came forward, cracking his knuckles. “Looks like he wants to do things the hard way.”

“Stop! Don’t touch him!”

The nasty smirk on Clegane’s face vanished as he was hauled backwards and slammed face-first onto the counter. Robb gaped at the image of Theon holding the much larger man down, a look of humanlike fury on his face. Clegane cursed and tried to fight back, but Theon was strong. Of course Theon was strong. He was made out of metal. Robb had just never realized how strong before.

“Robb, are you alright?” Theon asked. “These men haven’t hurt you, have they?”

“Fucker!” Clegane hissed.

Theon grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the counter. Clegane went limp and Theon allowed his bulk to roll to the floor.

Tarly drew his gun. “Freeze!”

Theon’s eyes grew narrower as he singled in on Tarly. “I took care to only render your friend unconscious.” He took a step forward. “I suggest you leave before Robb calls the police.” He took another step forward.

“No, Theon, you’ve got the wrong idea.” Robb threw up his hands. “They _are_ the police.”

“They could be lying,” Theon said. “Robbers will sometimes gain entrance to homes by pretending to be law enforcement.”

“I said to freeze,” Tarly said, voice calmer now.

“If I’m wrong and you are legitimate police officers,” Theon continued, still coming forward, “I still can’t allow you to hurt Robb.”

“No, Theon, they weren’t hurting me.” _But they_ will _hurt you_!

“They tore up your workshop,” Theon said. “They _threatened_ you.” He bared his teeth. In that instant, he looked like a feral beast.

A shot rang out.

Robb jumped at the noise. Theon didn’t. The bullet had caught him in the shoulder. Unfazed, he kept coming.

The next shot hit dead center in his chest. It would have put a human down, but there was nothing vital there on a Zynth. He kept coming.

“Boy!” Tarly cried. “Call off your Zynth.”

“Theon! Stop!” Robb threw himself forward, putting his body between Theon and Tarly. Hoping Tarly wouldn’t shoot. He grabbed Theon by the shoulders. At his touch, Theon blinked. His eyes came to focus on Robb’s face, and the menacing expression faded away. “Theon.” Robb cupped his face. “Please, don’t make trouble for yourself.”

Theon blinked, as if genuinely confused. “I don’t matter, Robb. I’m not a bodyguard Zynth but—” He cupped Robb’s face in return and tilted Robb’s neck forward so their foreheads could meet. “I’ll do my best to protect you, no matter the cost to myself.”

Robb shook his head. “Don’t. Please don’t. I don’t want to see you—”

He gasped in shock as Theon was pulled out of his grasp. Officer Clegane had regained consciousness. The large man hauled Theon off the floor by his throat with one meaty hand. Something popped in Theon’s neck, but still Theon fought back, kicking and clawing.

“The off switch, you idiot!” Tarly hollered. “Under the hair!”

With a click, the light went out of Theon’s eyes. His body went rigid at the sudden power-down. Clegane dropped it with a disgusted grunt and gave it a kick for good measure.

“Stop.” Robb ran for Theon. His neck was at an odd angle, but the Pantheon models were meant to take that sort of damage, right? He’d fixed worse, right?

He tried to kneel down to inspect the damage, but Clegane grabbed his wrist. His arms were pulled behind his back. Clegane’s breath was hot on his ear. “Still think we need a search warrant to bust your ass now, boy?”


	19. Chapter 19

Robb’s wrists were raw when they uncuffed him several hours later. “You’re free to go,” the police chief, a more agreeable man by the name of Seaworth, said with an apologetic grimace. “We’ve determined you were not at fault based on evidence recovered from your Zynth’s recording history. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“The inconvenience?” Robb scoffed. “Your officers threatened me, and when my Zynth tried to intervene, they shot him!”

Seaworth shrugged. “They acted in self-defense. If it’s any consolation, I’ll have the two of them written up for use of unnecessary force.”

“Yeah, well…” Robb rubbed his wrists. “What about Theon?”

“Your Zynth?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. It’s to remain here as evidence.”

“For how long?”

“Until the investigation is complete. And after that, it will be destroyed.”

“What?” Robb clenched his fists and forced himself to _not_ punch Seaworth.

“Mr. Stark, you work with Zynths for a living. I’m sure you’re aware of the various laws. A Zynth that has shown volatile and violent behavior such as yours is a danger to humans.”

“He was protecting me!”

Again, Seaworth shrugged. “He attacked a police officer. That’s an automatic offense. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.” He put a hand on Robb’s shoulder. Robb wanted to shrug it off. Violently. “If you want, you can bring your grievance to court. If the judge rules in your favor, the county will reimburse you for the value of your Zynth.”

Robb did shake his hand off then. “I don’t want _reimbursement_. Theon is one of a kind, and I have no interest in replacing him.”

Seaworth looked startled but let his hand drop. “I know, son.”

“No, you don’t know.”

“I do know.” His gaze wasn’t as stone-cold as Officer Tarly’s, but it rooted Robb in place just the same. “A few years ago, I lost my son.”

“Sorry,” Robb said, though he didn’t really understand what that had to do with anything.

“He was a soldier. Killed in combat. What they sent back…” He ran a hand over his face and sighed, the kind of sigh that kept you from crying. “A short while later, I bought a Zynth, nominally to help my wife around the house. I’d been promoted…” He spread his arms wide, as if to show Robb where that had gotten him. “I wasn’t home very often. We bought a very simple model. None of the fancy bells and whistles. Just a nice companion Zynth. My wife loved it right away. And I…I admit I had subconsciously chosen one that looked like my son. Brown hair, brown eyes. Dimples when he smiled…”

He trailed off, and Robb could see the fondness in his eyes as he spoke about his Zynth.

“When I got home every day, I would greet my wife and then the Zynth. I would ask them how their day was. We would sit at the dining table and talk. Like a real family, it felt like. I could even overlook the fact that the Zynth never ate. My wife put it in our son’s room at night to power down and recharge. It slept on his bed.”

All past tense, Robb noted.

“And one day, I got a call from work. There had been a fire. I rushed home. My wife was fine. Went to the hospital to be treated for smoke inhalation. But the fact is, she never would have gotten out in time if it weren’t for that Zynth. It woke her up and carried her outside. But when it went back in for the cat...”

“You lost him,” Robb finished.

Seaworth didn’t respond to the change in pronouns. “It felt like losing my son all over again.”

“I’m sorry,” Robb repeated.

“But it wasn’t my son.” Seaworth’s face hardened. “My son had died years ago. The thing that had been living with us wasn’t alive. It was a machine. A very fine machine, and one I owe my wife’s life to, but a machine nonetheless.” He reached out to put his hand on Robb’s shoulder again, thought better of it, and let it drop once more. “Don’t let yourself get attached to a machine, lad. You’re only setting yourself up for heartache.”

“But Theon’s different!” Robb protested. “He cares about me. He took two bullets trying to protect me without even thinking.”

“And my Zynth carried my wife out of our burning house without even thinking. And then it went back in for the cat without even thinking. Because that’s what it was programmed to do.”

Robb had heard this all before. Thought this all before. He didn’t want to hear it.

“I’m going to appeal this,” he said. “I’m going to have this whole thing overturned. Theon was damaged trying to protect me. I promised him I’d fix him whenever he was damaged, and I’m not going to let your or anyone else make me into a liar.”

***

 

“Hey, cuz, what’s up?” Jon answered with a grin. Well, shit, things must be going better for him. Too bad Robb didn’t have time to ask what had changed.

“I need your help.”

Jon’s smile immediately turned back into his usual frown. “What is it?” he asked, all business.

“I need some law-enforcement advice. You graduated top on your academy exam, right?”

“Ri~ght.” He drew out the word uncertainly.

Robb took a deep breath and looked into the screen. “I need to stop them from destroying Theon.”

“Theon? The Zynth you were watching? Who’s destroying him?”

“The cops.” Robb gritted his teeth to keep from vomiting the entire scenario into Jon’s lap. “Turns out his owner is up to some shady shit. The police came by here to ask questions. They roughed things up a little and Theon took it the wrong way.”

“Gods, Robb, he didn’t attack a uniformed officer, did he?”

Jon’s incredulity could not be a good sign.

“Zynths are expected to follow civilian law. You know that, Robb. If they break any sort of law, we’re told to assume they’ve been tampered with. Your Zynth’s owner is involved with ‘some shady shit?’ Yeah, there’s probable cause that he’s a literal accessory to a crime.”

“So how do I appeal it?”

“You can’t, Robb. No more than if your family dog attacked a neighborhood kid.”

“Theon’s not a dog, though.”

“No, he’s less than a dog.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!”

Jon was shocked into silence. Robb realized he was breathing heavily.

“Robb…” Jon began slowly. “Have you developed feelings for this Zynth?”

“What if I have?”

 More silence.

“Robb.”

Robb suddenly couldn’t meet Jon’s eyes, even over the video feed.

“ _Robb_.”

“He’s my best friend,” Robb finally snapped. “I…love him.” He grimaced, but it was true. Had been true for a while now. One of those unwanted thoughts he didn’t want to voice.

“Robb, would you listen to yourself? He’s a Zynth!”

“He’s been there for me when you weren’t!”

Jon flinched back, as if he’d been struck.

“Sorry,” Robb blurted out. “Sorry, Jon, sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just—I don’t know what to do. They took Theon away and they’re saying they’re going to destroy him and there’s nothing I can do about it. And now you’re telling me the same thing. But I can’t accept that. There has to be something I can _do_.”

The words gushed from his mouth so fast, he couldn’t be sure Jon even understood what he was saying. Jon just sat there, looking stunned.

“Please, Jon,” Robb begged. “ _Please_. If there’s any way I can get Theon back…” He trailed off. He knew this next part would sound stupid, but he was beyond caring. “I owe it to him.”

Jon was silent, but looking a little less shell-shocked.

“You’re serious about this?” he said at last.

“Dead serious.”

Jon sighed, puffed up his cheeks and blew the air through his lips. “You said he’s currently be held as evidence in the owner’s investigation?”

“Yeah. They don’t know where Ramsay is right now.”

“That’s good for you. They’ll hold onto the evidence until they can catch this guy and send him to trial. Normally, if he were to be found innocent, they’d return all the confiscated property back to him.”

“I…don’t think he’s innocent,” Robb admitted.

“In which case they would just keep the evidence indefinitely, in case they needed a retrial or something. But seeing as the Zynth is dangerous—”

“He’s not dangerous, Jon.”

“—has been _deemed_ dangerous, they’ll probably pull the memory and destroy everything else once the sentencing has been passed. The good news—” Jon held up a hand to keep Robb from interrupting. “—is that the sheer bureaucracy involved can keep the process running for _years_. We’ve got time to figure this out.”

Robb felt the knots in his body—his shoulders, his forehead, his gut—relax slightly. “You think so?”

“Yeah. For now, you just focus on taking care of yourself. I’ll ask around and see what I can find. Precedents, that sort of thing. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you, Jon.” Robb felt tears welling up behind his eyes. Whether they were from gratitude or simple exhaustion, he couldn’t say, but he did fight them back. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Jon’s smile wasn’t as convincing as it could have been. “I mean it though. Take care of yourself. I know how you get when you’re stressed.”

“Yeah.” Robb nodded in agreement. “I will. Thanks again.”

Jon looked like he wanted to say something else, but at that moment, an alert for an incoming call broke the silence. “I’ll let you take that,” he said. “Talk to you later.”

“You too.”

Robb hit the icon to end the call and swiped the screen to see who was calling in. Unknown user. Robb frowned, feeling he’d been duped into hanging up on Jon. With a sigh, he accepted the call. The screen that popped up was nothing but a bitmapped mess. When no telemarketer’s voice launched into its usual chipper spiel, Robb said a tentative, “Hello?”

“Hello, Stark,” a voice answered back. With just those two words, Robb knew who it was.

“Ramsay?”

The voice chuckled. “Miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's baaaack.


	20. Chapter 20

“Ramsay!” Robb stood, trying to hold his tablet steady with shaky hands. “Where have you been? The police were here looking for you.”

“I thought they might be.” The pixels shifted but didn’t give way to any image. Ramsay seemed to be scrambling his message. “Your line isn’t tapped, is it, Stark?”

“No.”

“Of course you’re not lying to me. And you’re not going to tell the police about this call either, are you? Because otherwise you’ll never see your money.”

“My money?” It took Robb a moment to catch on. “Fuck the payment!” he said, now shaking the tablet around as if he could throttle Ramsay through their tenuous connection. “You owe me an explanation for all the bullshit you’ve put me through. They took Theon because of you!”

“Who?”

Right. Theon was a nickname he’d been using all this time. “Reek,” he said.

“Fuck you, Stark,” Ramsay’s voice hissed. “You gave my Zynth to the cops?”

“They _took_ him,” Robb reiterated. “ _Confiscated_ him. As evidence against _you_.”

A slight grinding sound came over the line. It sounded angry.

“I entrusted him to you. I gave you _admin_ privileges. You were supposed to _watch_ him while I was gone. You can’t even do that?” A deep sigh. Trying to calm himself down. Robb recognized it because he’d just done the same thing with Jon. “Where is he now? Being held in some storage locker down at the precinct?”

Robb didn’t answer.

“How are you going to fix this, Stark?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Robb admitted.

“Because Reek is very valuable to me. Besides the money I’ve put into him, I’ve grown rather attached to this one. I don’t think I’d ever be able to replace him, and I have no desire to try.”

Gods, Robb could hear his own thoughts reflected in Ramsay’s words. A shiver ran up his spine.

“I have someone working on it right now,” he said.

Ramsay’s disembodied voice made a low humming sound of approval. Or mock approval. “Someone in law enforcement?”

“Yeah.”

“Your faggy cousin? The one with the hair?”

Robb wondered how Ramsay even knew Jon.

“Let’s cut to the chase, Stark. You and I both know that following the rules isn’t going to get us anything but a bunch of red tape.”

Robb’s hands tightened on the tablet. “And what’s _your_ idea? _Breaking_ the rules? How does that work? Bust in a break him out?” He wasn’t sure whether Ramsay could see him or not—probably yes—but he shook his head anyway. “Maybe if I turn you in, the cops will be more willing to work with me on Theon’s case.”

“Who the fuck is Theon? Never mind. I don’t give a shit. Go ahead, turn me in. You don’t know where I’m calling from. And on the off-chance your tip does lead to an arrest, you think that’ll make it easier on your friend? You think they cut bargains, Stark? Are you an idiot? Never mind. I already know the answer to that.”

“What do you want me to _do_?” Robb said incredulously. “Waltz into the police station and smuggle your Zynth out of there?”

“Better you than me. You’re not a wanted man.”

Robb forced his hands to relax or he really was going to damage the screen. “And what are you wanted _for_ , Ramsay? You still haven’t explained anything.”

“That’s none of your business. Things got out of control. That’s all you need to know.”

“Shit.” Robb had to sit down. Had Ramsay…had he _killed_ someone? Was he talking to a _murderer_? “I can’t get involved with your bullshit. What you’re asking me to do is illegal.” More illegal than what Jaime Lannister had asked. Tampering with evidence, hindering an investigation, obstructing justice, aiding and abetting. He could end up with far, far worse than a fine and a suspended license.

“You’re not going to help me?” Ramsay scoffed. “Even if I make it easy for you?”

Robb had just been about to hang up, but he paused at that. “What do you mean, ‘make it easy for me’?”

“I mean that I’ve collected some useful things over the years. Like a universal key card. Guaranteed to open any security-encoded door. Something you just slip into the reader and…”

Robb released one hand to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Look, Stark, if I could get into the police station and do it on my own, I would, but I’d never make it past the front desk. Maybe I could track down one of my reputable friends—” He grunted in derisive laughter. “—but they don’t have admin privileges. Reek would never obey them. It’s got to be you. And look, I understand you’re putting yourself at risk, but I’ll make it worth your while. What I’m paying for Reek’s repairs, I’ll double it.”

“Ramsay, I—”

“Triple it!”

Robb scratched furiously at his neck. Was he seriously considering this? Screw the money. If Ramsay had something that would let him sneak in and whisk Theon out of there, wouldn’t he be an idiot for not trying?

“Alright,” he said, standing again. He felt lightheaded and had to lean against the armchair to keep himself of staggering. “I’ll do it.”

“Good man.” He could hear the approval in Ramsay’s voice. He didn’t want Ramsay’s approval. He wasn’t doing this for Ramsay. “Go downstairs. You’ll find the key card in your mailbox.”

“What? Right now or—?” His neck prickled. “Ramsay, where are you?”

“I’ll be gone by the time you get down there,” Ramsay chuckled. “Oh, and Robb? If you even so much as _think_ about telling the cops about our little conversation, I _promise_ you that you will regret it. Okay?”


	21. Chapter 21

The key card weighed nothing, and yet it weighed heavily in Robb’s pocket. It felt like he was sleepwalking through the police station, as if this were all a dream. Was he really going to do this? Risk getting himself thrown in prison for Theon?

For Theon.

That hardened his resolve. He was doing this for Theon. Not for himself. Certainly not for Ramsay.

He passed through the metal detector and facial recognition scanner just fine, but it felt like everyone was looking at him—the on-duty officers, the petty criminals there for booking, the civilians there to air their grievances. It felt like they all knew what he was there for. And yet the only person who’d said anything was the officer at the front desk who’d asked if he needed help. To which Robb replied, “I’m here to meet with Chief Seaworth.” The man had waved him through.

The noise dropped off the deeper into the bowels he went. There were signs pointing to the evidence room, and Robb followed them carefully, checking every hallway to make sure it was empty before moving forward. Whenever he saw or heard someone approaching, he would seat himself on one of the several chairs outside any of the offices and do his best to appear troubled, as if he were waiting to be called in. This did the trick on the two occasions he did it, but he felt it best not to rely too heavily on his acting skills. In truth, getting in would be the easier problem. Getting back out, with a Zynth in tow no less, would prove much more difficult.

He bore this in mind as he finally reached the evidence room. He check and double-checked the hallway and, finding no one, reached into his pocket for the key card. Took a deep breath. Was he really willing to do this? Even if he managed to get out with Theon, there was no guarantee that the police wouldn’t be able to track him down later—the entire station had to be littered with security cameras, after all. But he hadn’t done anything wrong yet. He could still turn around and go home. Or, better yet, tell the police about his conversation with Ramsay.

The decision was taken away when the door handle clicked. He jumped back, startled, as the door swung inwards. There, in the doorway, was Theon.

He had been badly damaged in the scuffle yesterday. Robb couldn’t tell the damage the bullets had done to him, just that they’d left holes in his shirt, but it was obvious his neck was at an off-angle. All the same, when Robb saw him, he flung himself as the Zynth, hugging him close. “They told me they were going to destroy you.”

Theon hugged back. “Is that why you came for me?”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

Theon’s hand was gentle on the back of his head, rubbing through his hair and at the ever-present scratches on his neck. “I don’t want you to get in trouble on my account, Robb.”

“But you’re in this mess because of me.”

“Because I was doing what I was programmed to do. It’s not your fault, Robb.” He pulled back and cupped Robb’s face. The hands that had held Officer Clegane down with such ease were now as gentle as a whisper against his skin. “It’s not your fault,” he repeated.

He looked upwards, over Robb’s head. Robb turned to look and saw the red eye of a security camera.

“I’m scrambling it for now,” Theon said. “I want you to turn around and walk out of here.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“As long as I’m still here in evidence when they do inventory, you won’t get in any sort of trouble.”

Robb shook his head. “No, you have to come with me. That’s the only reason I came.”

Theon smiled. “I know. And it’s why I won’t let you get in trouble on my behalf.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead against Robb’s, the way he had in the park. “I wish I could keep serving you, Robb, but I can’t. Not if it means endangering you. I promised to protect you, and right now, the best way I can do that is to stay away from you.”

“Is that your unbiased logic talking?”

Theon chuckled. His forehead was very warm, and Robb realized he’d started his thermal function.

Robb gripped his shoulders, wanting to shake some sense into him. “If you stay here, you’ll die.”

“Zynths don’t die, Robb. You can’t kill what was never alive to begin with.”

“What about my promise to you? You have to come home with me so I can fix you up.”

“And I promised I’d protect you, even from yourself, remember?”

Robb’s chest constricted. Why did Theon have to be so stubborn? “I _order_ you to come home with me. I’m your guest admin. You have to do what I say.”

“And yet I can’t act against the interest of my owner.”

Robb’s breathing grew shallower as he scrambled for the right thing to say, the thing that would convince Theon to stop being such a noble idiot. “Your owner,” he said, skin crawling. “Ramsay contacted me last night.”

Theon’s frame went stiff under his hands.

“He’s the one who gave me the key card to get you out. He couldn’t come to get you himself because he’s wanted by the police.” The tightness moved from his chest down to his stomach. He hated this, but if this was what it took to get Theon to show some self-preservation, so be it. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Master…”

Robb gritted his teeth. “You don’t want to get me in trouble, but Ramsay’s already _in_ trouble. Your presence couldn’t make his situation any worse. And he wants to see you. I could take you to him.”

Theon was silent for a moment. “Here’s what you’re going to do,” he said at last, forehead still pressed to Robb’s. “You’re going to walk out of here. Leave the station. Leave me here.”

“But I—”

“Once you’ve been home long enough for plausible deniability, I’m going to activate myself again and escape. Preferably after the bulk of the day shift has gone home for the night.”

“Activate yourself…again?” Robb’s head reeled. There had been a moment of confusion upon seeing Theon standing on the other side of the door, powered up, but it had quickly been overshadowed by relief. Now the confusion was back with a vengeance. “How did you activate yourself at all?” It shouldn’t have been possible.

“I…don’t know,” Theon said. “I just…felt you nearby and knew you needed me. Maybe they forgot to turn my idle systems off?”

“Maybe.” Robb doubted it. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Theon had agreed to escape. It hurt that it took Ramsay to convince him, but Robb supposed he’d always be more loyal to his original owner. And it was better this way. Normally, he’d say going back to an abusive (and possibly murdering) asshole was not something anyone should encourage, but he had to remind himself that Theon was specifically designed for that purpose. It wasn’t the same as encouraging a human to do the same. And this way, Theon would get to live.

“Alright,” he said with a shuddering breath. “I’ll go. But I want to see you one last time. After you’re safe.”

He felt Theon nod against him. “If it’s safe, I’ll do anything to make it happen, Robb.”

 

***

 

Robb had barely set foot outside the station then a message pinged on his phone. _Where’s my Zynth, Stark? I don’t see him with you._

Robb looked around, but he didn’t see Ramsay’s unmistakable shape among the people milling about on the street. He ducked his head down and typed a response back as he walked. _Everything’s fine. He’s back online and will make his escape later this evening._

It was several minutes before he got a reply.

_Good thinking, Stark. I’ll send you a location to meet up with us later. You’ll get your money._

_I don’t care about the money_ , Robb thought but didn’t type back. _I just want to see Theon_.

 

***

 

An empty parking lot behind an abandoned building in the old and largely disused fishing district. Ramsay wasn’t one for originality when it came to meeting places, it seemed. Robb turned his collar out to ward off the light drizzle that had picked up. The gusts coming off the river were cold and smelled of sewage. He’d been standing here, under the single streetlight, for fifteen minutes, and was beginning to think that Ramsay had stood him up. Wouldn’t put it past the little bastard.

No sooner has these less-than-charitable thoughts begun to form than a car’s headlights flashed against the brick wall. A tan four-door pulled into one of the empty parking spots. The passenger door opened and Theon bolted out, making straight for Robb.

Robb opened his arms, and Theon pulled him close. “I’m so glad you came,” he whispered.

The other door opened and slammed closed. Heavy footsteps made their way over. Robb felt more than saw Ramsay. He’d been hoping the psycho would stay in the car and let them say goodbye in peace. “Well, looks like you’ve developed some feelings for my Zynth, Stark. Not that I blame you, I just never took you for that type.”

Theon was the first to break away. “Master, Robb has taken very good care of me in your absence.”

Ramsay patted Theon’s head. “Always so eager to please your Master. Guess that’s my fault for giving Stark full access to you.”

“We never did anything inappropriate,” Robb said in Theon’s defense. “We never—I never had him—he was always very adamant about what you would and wouldn’t allow.”

“Good.” Ramsay nodded and tilted his hat back. His eyes were as cold and unfeeling as Robb remembered. “Because if I thought for one second that you’d tried to fuck my Zynth, you wouldn’t have a throat right now, Robb Stark.” He spat on the pavement and turned. “Anyway, I’ve got your payment.”

He started for the car. Theon followed, but Robb stood where he was.

Ramsay looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Well? You want your money or not?”

For a second, Robb contemplated telling Ramsay to keep his damn money. But in the end, Theon shot him a beckoning look. Robb squared his shoulders and followed Ramsay to the car, falling in step beside Theon.

“I want you to know,” he said, “that I intend to keep my promise. If Ramsay ever damages you, I’ll repair you.” He held out a hand and traced it along Theon’s bent neck. “Let Ramsay know that he’s always welcome in my shop.” _If it means I get to see you again_. “No questions asked.”

Theon turned his head as best he could and smiled.

They reached the car. Ramsay popped the trunk and reached in for a black suitcase. “Cash,” he said, holding it out. “Untraceable. I’ll leave the laundering up to you.”

“Thanks,” Robb muttered. He reached out to take it

His hand was wrapped around the handle when the briefcase was yanked out of his grasp so hard that he staggered forward. He tried to get his footing. His knees hit the bumper, and then he was being shoved backwards, falling into the trunk. His back hit something hard and metallic. He felt strong hands lift his legs and force them in after him. Then the trunk closed with a slam and he was plunged into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to be getting dark from this point on, so keep an eye on the warnings.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the new warnings. Nothing too graphic, but there's some definite Ramsay creepiness in this chapter.

Robb had only a very general idea of where they were. Somewhere in the country, surrounded by trees. He’d seen them as Ramsay had dragged him from the car to the concrete and corrugated-steel building, either a warehouse or a factory of some sort. Abandoned regardless. He was in one of the back rooms, chained to a concrete wall. Any attempts to ask questions were met with the same response: a punch to the face.

“Where are we?”

Punch to the face.

“Why are you doing this?”

Punch to the face.

Robb was pretty sure his nose was broken.

For a while he hollered and screamed, like he had in the car. And just like in the car, he got no response. He tried pulling at the chain, tried bracing his foot against the wall and yanking until his hands were raw. Again, to no avail.

He hadn’t seen Ramsay in probably hours. It was difficult to tell time. It had been dark when he’d been kidnapped—that’s what this was, a kidnapping! The sun had been rising over the tree lines when he’d been dragged from the trunk of the car. And now? There were no windows. He couldn’t tell.

He was hungry by the time the door on the other side of the room opened. Theon came in holding a plate of food. It was the first Robb had seen him since the parking lot. He had no idea how to react. Theon could have stopped this whole thing, but he hadn’t. He’d let it happen. Perhaps he’d even acted as willing bait to lure Robb in. Robb couldn’t understand it. He looked away when Theon approached.

“I got him to agree to let me make you something to eat.” Theon knelt down and slid the plate in front of Robb.

It smelled good, and Robb was willing to bet it tasted good as well, but he refused to look.

“You need to eat.” Theon slid the plate closer. “It’s not poisoned or drugged.”

Robb flipped the plate over with one hand. Scrambled eggs and potatoes scattered across the floor. A breakfast dish. It must be morning outside the room. “I don’t want to eat. I want to be let go.”

“I can’t do that for you.”

“Yes you can.” Robb gripped the thick chain in his hands and held it out to Theon. “You knocked Officer Clegane out. You can pull this chain from its bolt. I know you can.”

Theon shook his head. “I’m not supposed to listen to you anymore. You’ve been removed from my admin list.”

“So, you’re just going to stand there and let Ramsay do…whatever it is he’s going to do to me?”

“He’s my Master. I have to serve him.”

“And what about me?” Robb grabbed Theon’s arm by the wrist, though he knew Theon could break free easily. “You promised to protect me.”

Theon blinked rapidly. “I didn’t know he was going to do this,” he said. “I tried to get him to let you go. I begged him not to hurt you. Master told me to shut up and I…I talked _back_ to him.” A hiccupping noise escaped him, as if his voice box couldn’t keep up with what he wanted to say. “I went against Master’s orders. I _disobeyed_ him.”

One of his hands went to his chest. He was naked—Robb supposed there was no ignoring that anymore—and it showed the damage done to his chest. At first Robb thought it was from the bullets alone, but he’d only been shot twice, once in the shoulder and once in the chest. The damage was deep, beneath the skin and outer layer of metal endoskeleton, but there was another hole above his navel. Too clean and too wide to be a bullet hole. Some sort of round, sharp point then, like an icepick. The chromatophores had turned red to give a convincing illusion of swollen flesh. Theon’s fingers fluttered over it.

“He thinks you’ve corrupted my files.” Theon sounded like he was about to cry. “He thinks I don’t love him anymore.”

“Theon.” Robb held tighter to Theon’s wrist, but Theon just pulled away.

“You’re not my guest admin anymore,” he said, standing. “Don’t call me that anymore. My name is Reek.”

 

***

 

“You haven’t eaten your food.”

Robb had finally managed to fall asleep, only to startle awake at the sound of Ramsay’s voice so near. He scrambled into a sitting position and watched as Ramsay prodded the overturned plate and its contents with the steel toe of his boot.

“And after Reek begged so sweetly to make you something too.” He tsk’d and shook his head before squatting down to be on Robb’s level.

Robb lunged at him. He remembered watching a movie with Jon where the hero had managed to kill the bad guy by jabbing his thumbs into the man’s eyes. He tried that now, but all he managed were a few scratches on Ramsay’s face before the other man had his pinned against the wall by his throat. Not even very deep scratches. The largest produced a few wells of blood, which Ramsay swiped away with his free hand. And to Robb’s dismay, he didn’t even look pissed. He looked pleased.

“I was hoping you’d fight back,” he laughed. “Zynths don’t ever make it convincing. They don’t bleed either.”

“Is that why I’m here?” Robb tried to make it an accusation, but he couldn’t quite keep the tremor out of his voice.

With his free hand, Ramsay reached into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt and produced an army knife. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.” He flipped out the blade. Robb instinctually jerked away as Ramsay pointed it at him. “You see, after I dropped Reek off at your shop, I was so lonely without my little buddy.” He brought the blade up under the hem of Robb’s shirt and pulled until the fabric split. He traced the knife upwards, and Robb remained very still, afraid that any sort of movement would result in a nasty cut. “So, my pals decided to cheer me up by buying me some…er, company. Say they know this place downtown where you can get a real flesh-and-blood human. Of course, you pay more to rent a person than a machine, but it’s worth it.” He paused in his work to give Robb a wink. “Sometimes there’s just no substitute, know what I’m saying?”

Robb held his breath as the knife reached his collar.  Ramsay used both hands to spread the shirt open, revealing Robb’s chest beneath.

“I may have gotten a little rough with my rented companion,” Ramsay continued, drinking Robb in with his eyes.

Robb shuddered in revulsion and tried once again to lash out.

Ramsay snarled and slammed him against the wall so roughly that he saw stars behind his eyes. “I appreciate the spirit, Stark, but I’m trying to _explain_ something to you and you’re being rude.”

Robb’s head lulled forward. He was having a hard time concentrating on Ramsay’s words.

“Where was I? Ah, yes. My companion. He’s crying and bitching and begging me to take him to the hospital. Over a broken wrist.” He rolled his eyes, as if this were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “But I’ve set enough broken bones in my life. So, I take him back to my place instead. And he doesn’t like that. Doesn’t appreciate what I’m trying to do for him.”

A cold hand came to rest on Robb’s stomach, shocking him back into focus. He didn’t like that hand there, but in trying to buck it off, he just ended up on the floor, with Ramsay pinning him between his thighs. The cold hand slid under the waistband of his pants. “Please…stop,” he croaked out.

“You’re scared,” Ramsay noted. He began to undo the zipper of Robb’s fly. “Good. My companion was scared too. I realized what I’d been missing, trying to imitate the real thing with Zynths. But fear isn’t something you can imitate.” He yanked the pants and underwear down in one brutal pull.

Robb cried out, tried to reach down to cover himself. Ramsay swatted his hands away and gripped his face, forcing him to look up into eyes alight with a manic gleam.

“Are you scared, Stark? Are you wondering what I’m going to do to you? Am I going to rape you? Torture you? Cut you into bloody little ribbons?” Ramsay threw his head back and laughed. “And yeah, I probably will. Like, 99% chance. But…not right now.”

He stood suddenly. Robb was left gasping like a fish. He clawed for his pants and pulled them up. Ramsay didn’t try to stop him this time. In fact, he took a few backwards steps, still chuckling to himself.

“I’m learning to temper myself. Take my time. My dad always said I was too impulsive for my own good. So, you get to stay here and imagine all the things I’m going to do to you. But the real question you should be asking yourself is if I’m going to kill you. And the answer to that is no, not if I can help it. I was able to keep my companion alive for a week and a half. I’m going to try to do better with you. Going to try to do a little better with each one.”

“With each one?” Robb gaped.

Ramsay spread his arms wide. “Yeah. You’re just my second try, Stark. I’m going to have to do a lot more practicing before I’m able to keep a human pet.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the warnings. And let me know if you think I should put the rape/non-con tag up.

It felt like another day before Ramsay came back. Robb got so hungry that he ate the food he’d thrown to the floor, even though it was beyond cold and now covered in grit and dust. He bunched up his ruined shirt and used it as a pillow, facing towards the wall, back hunched against anyone who might approach.

He didn’t sleep much, but he _thought_. About how stupid he’d been. Agreeing to meet Ramsay in an empty parking lot, even when he’d suspected the man was a murderer. But he’d wanted to see Theon again. Which was the stupidest thing. Stupid to think Theon—no, not Theon! Reek—would choose him over his Master. Stupid to think a machine would have any sentimentality. Stupid to think a machine loved him.

Robb wiped the tears and snot from his face, but they always came back. The blood from his broken nose had dried and cracked in places he could never seem to get clean. And his head still hurt from being slammed against the wall. He probably had a concussion.

The worst thing was that because he hadn’t told anyone about Ramsay, nobody would know where he was. Probably nobody would even be looking for him yet. How long would it take for someone to miss him? Jon would try to call and assume he was busy. Gendry might come by with a replacement part but would leave it in the drop box. Smalljon or Dacey might notice he hadn’t made an appearance in a few weeks. He’d be dead by then.

It looked like his latest fuck-up was also going to be his last.

 

***

 

Consciousness came slowly, like surfacing after a dive. He felt warm and protected with Theon wrapped around him, bare chest to bare back. Robb luxuriated in it. He wanted to stay like this forever and have Theon ease him from the terrible dream he’d just had.

But then he felt the hard floor under him, the chain around his ankle, and everything came rushing back. Every awful thing. It wasn’t Theon holding him. It was Reek.

He bolted upright. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled, shoving Reek away with as much force as he could manage. At this point, it felt like hardly anything.

Reek blinked, his pupils changing rapidly as he tried to focus in on Robb’s face. Something was wrong, though. He looked confused for a moment, then scooted away awkwardly until he came to rest at Ramsay’s feet. Robb only belatedly realized he was there as he reached down to card a hand through Reek’s hair.

“You were lovey-dovey with him not too long ago, Stark,” he said. Reek nuzzled into his hand and Robb felt his empty stomach churn. “Hugging, kissing.” He laughed as Robb’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes, he told me about that. I had to be sure. I had him tell me every detail of every filthy, disgusting thing you made him do.”

“We never—”

“No,” Ramsay interrupted, “I guess you didn’t.” He looked almost disappointed. “You wanted to.”

“I never wanted to,” Robb shot back. “Did _he_ tell you that?”

“No in so many words. In fact, I think he was oblivious to it himself. But from his account, it sounds like you developed a little crush on him.”

“It was a mistake,” Robb spat. “I forgot the number one rule of working with a Zynth.”

“Oh, and that is…?”

Robb tried to lock eyes with Reek, but Reek wouldn’t meet him. Only looked up at Ramsay for his next order. Like an adoring puppy. No, worse than that, because dogs were capable of feeling affection. Reek didn’t serve Ramsay because he wanted to; he was programmed to do it.

“It’s not alive.”

Reek didn’t respond at all, but Ramsay clucked his tongue. “Did you hear that, Reek? It sounds like he doesn’t love you as much as you thought he did.”

“Of course I don’t love it!” Robb grabbed the closest thing on hand, the plate nobody had bothered to pick up yet, and hurled it at them. Reek moved in a flash and caught it effortlessly before it could even reach Ramsay. “It’s a machine,” Robb said, as if his point had just been made. “Even you recognize that it can’t give you what you really want. Which is why I’m here, isn’t it? To fill your sick needs.”

Ramsay strode forward and knelt. “That’s exactly why you’re here, Stark.”

Robb grunted as Ramsay grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him to the empty center of the room. He kicked and clawed, snarling like a rabid dog, and Ramsay only laughed. The chain clinked on the concrete, unwinding behind him until it was pulled taut and there was absolutely no give left. Only then did Ramsay deposit him on the floor. When Robb tried to get up on his hands and knees, a boot slammed into his back, rubber treads biting into his bare skin.

“You wanted to fuck my Zynth, Stark. Admit it.”

Robb gritted his teeth. “Yeah, alright. I thought about it.” It felt true once he’d said it. One of those thoughts he’d tried his hardest to ignore. Not fuck, nothing so crude. But as long as he was being honest, yes, he’d imagined being more intimate with Theon than a kiss, making love to him, introducing him as “my boyfriend.” He didn’t say any of that to Ramsay, though.

“I don’t blame you,” Ramsay went on. He rolled Robb onto his side using his boot. “He’s very pretty, isn’t he? I had him made that way.”

 _You fancy yourself a real artist_. Robb bit his lip.

“But you don’t fuck another man’s Zynth, Stark.” He stomped down fairly hard on Robb’s stomach. Hard enough to wind him, but Gods, definitely not with all his strength. “It just isn’t done.”

“Fuck you!” Robb hissed.

“More like fuck you.” Ramsay took a step back, releasing the pressure on Robb’s gut. Robb, too busy scrambling to his hands and knees, only caught the look Ramsay shot to Reek out of the corner of his eye. “Fuck him, Reek.”

Robb’s head shot up to look at Reek. Reek looked back at him.

Everything was still for a moment.

_No, Theon, don’t. Don’t listen to him._

“How do you want me to fuck him, Master?”

Robb felt tears come to his eyes.

“Get him on his back,” Ramsay said.

Reek didn’t move. “Do you want me to penetrate him or to have him penetrate me?” It sounded much more clinical than something Theon would have said. Maybe, if he kept talking like that, it wouldn’t be so bad. Robb could keep in mind that it was just a robot, just a thing.

“Shit, I don’t care,” Ramsay said. “Just make sure he looks at your face while you’re doing it.”

“Yes, Master.”

Reek came forward.

Robb tried not to flinch back. He wouldn’t give Ramsay the satisfaction he so clearly wanted out of this. Besides, it wasn’t like there was anywhere to run.

Reek knelt down next to him and reached for Robb’s pants. “I’ll have you penetrate me,” he said, eyes on his task of unzipping the fly. “It will hurt less for you that way.”

“Glad my welfare is your main consideration while you rape me,” Robb muttered. He didn’t fight as Reek began to slide his pants down, but he did look away.

“I have to follow Master’s orders.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I have to follow my programming.” Reek slipped the right pant leg over his foot and turned to the other. “If it makes you feel better…” He paused. “I don’t want to.” He slipped the left pant leg off, which caught on the chain. “I don’t want to hurt you, Robb.”

“But you’re going to anyway.”

Reek reached for his boxers. There was a noticeable twitch in his hands. “I’ve never wanted something different from what my Master wanted before. Even when I was with you, when you were my guest admin, I only ever wanted what you wanted.” His hands were warm as they worked their way under the waistband. “But now Master wants me to hurt you and you don’t want to be hurt so I…I don’t…” He began to slide the boxers down. “I don’t…” He stopped.

“What’s taking so long?” Ramsay’s voice felt like a knife in Robb’s ears. “It’s not like you to stall.”

Reek turned to face his beloved Master. “I don’t…”

“You don’t what?” Ramsay took a menacing step forward. Robb actually flinched, but Reek just slumped over. “Reek?” There was genuine concern in Ramsay’s voice now as he rushed forward and grabbed Reek by the shoulders.

He gave the Zynth a rough shake. Reek’s head lolled backwards on his broken neck, his mouth fell open, and a distorted sound, like an old-school dial-up modem, filled the room.

Ramsay stared in horror and shook him even harder. “Reek? What’s wrong?”

Reek continue to issue the ear-splitting screech.

Ramsay whirled on Robb. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I…don’t know.” Robb was just as bewildered. The older Zynth models, gen two and older, would sometimes react that way when faced with a command they couldn’t process. But Zynth Corp had long since worked out the bugs in the AI that led to such a thing. He, personally, had never seen it.

“Fix it!” Ramsay screamed.

“I…” Robb pulled the waistband of his boxers up and slowly got to his knees. This might be the opportunity he needed. “Okay. If we get him to my workshop, I can—”

“You’re not going anywhere, Stark.” Ramsay laid Reek on the floor with more tenderness than Robb thought him capable of. “Tell me what you need and I’ll bring it to you.”

Robb’s mind rushed. “M-my diagnostic tool.”

“Alright.”

“And…um…” He probably couldn’t ask for anything that could too obviously be used as a weapon. “A screwdriver. The smallest one in my cabinet. A soldering iron. I’ll need the full kit, too.”

“Alright. Anything else?”

Ramsay was dead earnest.

Robb tried to think. Something he could use to either attack Ramsay, cut the chain around his ankle, or else call for help. “My tablet.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“I keep all my repair manuals backed up on there,” Robb said.

Ramsay nodded. “Alright. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He stomped across the room and slammed the door behind him so hard that the entire warehouse seemed to shake.


	24. Chapter 24

For several seconds, Robb sat on his knees, trying to gather his breath and thoughts. Next to him, Reek continued to shriek and beep, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, his mouth completely slack.

Robb hit the off button hidden under his hairline. Worked like a charm. Ramsay probably could have done the same thing if he hadn’t been so panicked. Panicked over a Zynth. What a fucking idiot.

With the noise gone, it was easier to concentrate. Not that he had much to work with. He was still chained to the wall with no obvious means of escaping. The only thing that had changed was now Reek’s lifeless body was in the room with him. Which might prove useful. Robb didn’t dare boot him back up, lest he just continue carrying out Ramsay’s order, even if Ramsay wasn’t there. But maybe Robb could get something useful from him. The pickaxe wound in his belly was leaking wires. If Robb could dig around in there, find something to pick a lock with…

He rolled Reek’s dead weight over on his back. And paused. Why did he still see Theon’s face? When his eyes were closed and his face was peaceful, he didn’t look like Ramsay’s Reek. He looked like Robb’s Theon, the Zynth he’d convinced himself was special. Convinced himself he loved.

He brushed these thoughts off with a shake of his head and reached for the stomach wound.

He’d barely brushed the skin when Reek’s eyes flew open.

Robb jumped back and scrambled backwards across the floor. Shit!

Reek just lay there, blinking. Then slowly, with the complaining whir of motors, tilted his head on his broken neck. “…R-o-o-obb.” His voice was heavily distorted, just a facsimile of a human voice.

Robb pressed himself up against the wall, hardly breathing. If Reek decided to pick up where he’d left off, there was no way he could fight against the Zynth’s superhuman strength.

“R-o-obb,” he repeated. His large blue eyes focused in on Robb’s face. “System reset success-cessful. User: Robb St-St-Stark recognized-nized-nized.”

Robb hesitantly untucked himself. “System reset?”

“Your Zynth unit-unit has been success-cessfully-fully reset to its system settings for Warriorday, tenthmonth t-t-twen-en-enty-sixtee-ee-een.”

The day before Robb had been abducted. He didn’t know how much time had passed since then, but it had to have been a few days. Hope welled in the back of his throat as the implication set in. Gods, had Reek somehow managed to force a system reset to a time when Robb was still his guest admin? Before Ramsay had removed him.

“Theon?”

“The-on,” he repeated, dragging the word out as if it were new, as if he’d never heard it before. “From _theos_ , meaning ‘of the gods.’ From the shorted _pantheon_ , meaning, ‘of all the gods.’” He smiled as his speaking became less glitchy, more natural. He reached out for Robb’s hand. “That’s what you call me.”

“Theon.” Robb grabbed the outstretched hand and clutched it against his chest. He really felt like he was going to cry. “I thought I’d lost you.” _I thought you’d never existed at all_.

“I’m right here.” Theon squeezed his hand back. The strength that had been so terrifying moments ago was comforting. “Though I’m not sure where here is.”

Robb sniffed back a sob. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Theon’s eyes glazed as he searched his memory bank. “There were intruders. They said they were police, but they were hurting you…” He trailed off as he took in Robb’s state of partial undress, the chain around his ankle, the concrete surroundings. “I knew it. I knew they were fake. They’ve hurt you.”

Somehow, he truly had forgotten everything that had happened. The arrest, the attempt to break him out of the police station, the kidnapping in the empty parking lot. Being reunited with Ramsay. He’d deleted it all. And not by accident, Robb was willing to wager. He’d found a way to disregard Ramsay’s orders by simply forgetting about them.

Clever Zynth.

What was more, he’d picked a strategic moment as his last conscious memory. Robb knew what Reek had been thinking and seized the opportunity.

“Yeah,” he said, helping Theon to his feet. “Those two thugs did a number on me. When I wouldn’t give them any money, they knocked me out and brought me here.”

Theon’s eyes widened and he took Robb’s face in his hands. “Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Robb leaned into the touch, a bit ashamed of how easily everything was coming back to him. The feel of Theon’s skin on his own. The way he’d thought he’d felt for this Zynth. Had it all been an illusion? Was this just a return to the illusion? That didn’t matter right now. Right now he needed to keep the illusion going for Theon. “They stepped out, said they were going to make some calls. Something about a ransom. Now’s our chance to escape.”

Theon’s face hardened with resolve. “I’ll get you out of here.”

Exactly what Robb was hoping he’d say from the beginning.

He snapped the chain from Robb’s ankle with little effort and flung it across the room. Together, they made for the door. Finding that locked, Theon kicked it in and took the lead out into the warehouse beyond. “Stay behind me,” he instructed, holding out his arm as if to create a protective barrier between any lurking thugs and Robb.

They crept quietly across the vast, empty concrete floor towards the loading door on the far side. Robb felt a bit silly, knowing that Ramsay was gone and yet creeping around like a mouse anyway in case any of the “thugs” were waiting to pounce. Part of him wanted to take Theon by the shoulders and shake him and scream, “Ramsay’s the only thug around here!” He hoped Ramsay would make good on his promise to be gone for several hours.

Theon used his strength to lift the heavy corrugated-steel doors leading out to the loading docks. Outside was an asphalt parking lot surrounded by a chain link fence, and beyond that, nothing but trees.

Robb gasped in surprise when, without even asking permission, Theon scooped him up in his arms, bridal style, and began across the lot, carrying him as if he weighed nothing at all. “I can walk,” he protested, once he got over the initial shock.

“But I can walk faster,” Theon said. “My GPS indicates that we are thirty miles from the nearest town. I can get us there in fifteen minutes.”

“O-Okay,” Robb stuttered. He didn’t like not being able to feel the ground beneath his feet. Nobody had lifted him up and carried him around since he was a little boy, when his father would come home from work and swing him around until he was crying from laughter. It felt like being a child again, but frightening. He wrapped his arms around Theon’s neck as he began to pick up speed. Theon was right; he was much faster than any human.

_I’m completely at his mercy like this_ , Robb thought. That should have been terrifying to him, considering what Theon had been willing to do on Ramsay’s order less than an hour ago. But it wasn’t. And _that_ was more terrifying than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the _really_ bad stuff is over, so if you were covering your eyes the last few chapters, you can come back out. Just don't breathe a sigh of relief too soon. Our boys still aren't out of the woods.


	25. Chapter 25

The nearest town turned out to be not Winter Town, but something much, much smaller. Robb didn’t see a sign and didn’t care what its name was. What mattered was that, despite having only two main roads and one intersection, there were still people. People who stopped and stared at the naked Zynth carrying a half-naked man. That made it easy for them to get directions to the police station.

With a new shirt on his back and a coffee in hand, Robb felt more secure already, sitting in the sheriff’s office. She was a hard-faced woman, but she had kind eyes. “Two men pretending to be cops?” she asked, repeating the explanation Theon had given her.

He wasn’t here now, though. In the next room over with the deputy sheriff. He’d fought to stay with Robb, but Robb had told him he needed to speak with the sheriff in private. To tell her what had really happened, not what Theon _thought_ had happened.

“Actually, that’s just what I told him to get him to help me,” Robb admitted. “I _was_ kidnapped, but not by two men pretending to be cops. It was just one man. The Zynth’s owner, Ramsay Bolton.”

The sheriff—her desk placard said her name was Tarth—sat back in her seat. “I know that name. We got a bulletin for an arrest warrant on him.” She ran a hand through her short, blonde hair, then let out a long breath. “A body showed up a few weeks ago.”

“He told me about it.”

“I read the report. You’re lucky to have escaped.”

“I know.”

“It’s amazing you were able to hack into his Zynth to help you escape.”

“Well, I…”

She must have read the discomfort on his face, but she read it incorrectly. “You’re safe now. Multiple units have been sent out to the coordinates the Zynth gave us. We’re going to do everything we can to bring this man to justice. I promise you.”

“Thank you.” Robb took a nervous sip of his coffee. It tasted awful. “Can you not tell Theon the truth…about who kidnapped me? If he found out it was really his owner…I don’t know how he’d react.”

Tarth blinked in surprise. “We can have him shut down. You don’t have to keep pretending for your own safety.”

Have him shut down? Robb hadn’t really contemplated what would happen to Theon after they’d escaped. An hour or so ago he would have said he didn’t care. The self-conscious part of him said he still didn’t care. Theon had only helped him because he’d tricked himself into thinking Ramsay wasn’t responsible. But the part of Robb where the unwanted thoughts kept surfacing said that Theon _had_ found a way to help him, that if it weren’t for Theon’s clever thinking and self-damaging of his own memory, it was very likely he might still be in that room, chained to that wall. And that…that wasn’t _nothing_.

“He can turn himself back on,” he said after a moment of staring into his coffee.

“Oh? They can do that?” Tarth asked in surprise. “That seems counterproductive to me, but what do I know? Can’t say I’ve had much experience with Zynths. We don’t get many of them out here.” She folded her hands on top of the desk. “Just tell me what we can do to make you feel safer and we’ll do it.”

“Can I…see him?”

“The Zynth?”

Robb nodded.

Tarth shrugged. “If that’s what you really want. Officer Payne is keeping an eye on him now. Said he was going to find some clothes for him.” It made Robb smile the way she kept referring to Theon as “him.” Not “it.” Never “it.” She stood and made her way around the desk, coming to stand beside his chair. She was freakishly tall and towered over him. “I’ve contacted the officers in charge of the Bolton investigation. They’re on their way down. They’ll want to go over this with you again when they get here.”

“I understand.” He had to crane his neck to look up at her. “Can I be with Theon until then?”

 

***

 

Officer Payne smiled apologetically. “Sorry for all the plaid,” he said as Theon came out of the bathroom, looking like the least-rugged lumberjack ever. “It’s all I could find.”

“It’s fine,” Robb said. “We are in lumber country, after all.”

“And, uh…I’m not sure what to do about the…um, bullet holes,” the mousy kid went on. “I don’t know any place around here that does repairs.”

“I’m fine,” Theon said. “I’ll function until we get back to Winter Town.” He smiled winsomely. “Robb will fix me up, won’t you, Robb? Just like you promised.”

Robb couldn’t answer around the lump in his throat. There was a very real possibility that Theon wouldn’t be allowed to leave the police station at all. Not when the overseeing officers arrived and found out that he was an accomplice to a crime now, having helped Ramsay keep him captive for days. On top of already being evidence in another crime _and_ slated for termination.

Instead, he took Theon’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Officer Payne left them in one of the empty offices, one with a bench so they could sit side by side, Robb resting his head on Theon’s shoulder. Theon stroked his hair. “I’m glad that I was useful to you,” he murmured softly, “after all you’ve done for me.”

Robb sighed. “Theon, what would you do if they arrested Ramsay?”

Theon’s hand stilled. “Arrested him for what?”

“I don’t know…murder.”

“Master’s not a murderer. He wouldn’t need to kill anyone. He’s got me.”

“Hypothetically.”

“You’re asking what I would do?”

Robb nodded.

“I suppose…I would try to contact him. Then, I would wait for him to come for me.”

“What if he asked you to break him out? Of prison, I mean.”

“Are you asking if I would break the law if he ordered me to?”

Robb took in a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“I do what he tells me.”

“Even if it’s illegal? Would you hurt someone if he ordered it?” Robb sat up, pulled away. “Would you hurt me?”

Their eyes met. Robb imagined that if he looked hard enough, he could see the circuitry behind those eyes firing off, trying to process the question.

“No,” Theon answered with hardly any delay. “I would never hurt you.”

“Even if he told you to? Your Master?”

Theon shook his head. He didn’t understand what Robb was asking.

“If you had to choose between the two of us—me or Ramsay—who would it be?”

Silence.

They stared at each other for a long time.

The overly loud clock ticked away nearly a full minute before Theon said, “He _created_ me, Robb. I’m sorry.”

Robb breathed out. What answer had he been expecting? Reek was still in there, hiding in Theon’s programming.

“But I would never hurt you. Even if Master ordered me to.”

Robb leaned his head on Theon’s shoulder. “I know.”

 

***

 

He didn’t realize he’d dozed off until a tapping sound woke him up. He sat up and wiped the drool from his slack mouth; he’d drooled all over Theon’s lumberjack shirt during his nap too. Blearily, Robb looked around and saw the smaller shape of Officer Payne knocking against the frosted glass window of the office. “Mr. Stark,” his pitchy voice called out, “the officers from Winter Town are here.”

“One second!” Robb called.

He stretched his arms overhead and relished the cracking of his joints. By his side, Theon stirred, having gone into idle mode. Robb watched him wake up and wondered if this would be the last time he’d ever see the Zynth. It made his stomach sour to think about such a thing. Well, if that was the way things had to be, he at least had something he needed to say.

“Theon.”

The Zynth turned large eyes towards him.

“I…I know this is kind of weird, but…um, I’ve never known anyone like you before. Human or Zynth. I just wanted to thank you…for everything. And, um…” He clenched his fists. “What the hell? I love you, okay?”

Theon blinked. Then stood. “Thank you.”

That wasn’t exactly the response Robb had been expecting.

Theon took both of his hands and held them gently. “Thank you for loving me, Robb. I love you too. Perhaps not the way you love me, but…as close as a Zynth can love a human.” He caressed Robb’s knuckles, watching as if their joined hands were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “Not the kind of love a Zynth has for its admins. I don’t…not the way I love Master. The way I love you is…different. It feels…like my own decision somehow.”

Robb bit back the swell of emotion that overcame him. Theon wasn’t done yet and he wanted to hear every word.

“I love you, Robb. And I’m going to miss you.”

“Miss me?”

“When I have to go back to Master. I know he’ll remove you as my admin, but…I’ll still think about you. All the time.” He finally looked away from their hands. “I hope Master breaks me a lot, so he has to bring me back to get fixed up often. So I get to see you.”

The building emotion broke. Without thinking about it a second longer, Robb pulled Theon close and crashed their lips together. It was desperate and needy, and when Robb poked at Theon’s lips with his tongue, Theon opened for him. To Robb’s surprise, it wasn’t dry inside. It wasn’t exactly _moist_ , not like a human’s would be, but it was soft and welcoming. It drew Robb in deeper.

_I’m not letting him go_ , Robb decided. _I’ll fight them on this. Ramsay’s going away for a long time after everything’s said and done. I’ll ask the court to give Theon back to me and_ I’ll _remove_ Ramsay _as his admin._

He finally pulled away, renewed with resolve. “Stay here,” he said. “I’m going to go talk with the officers, and then we’re going home. Okay?”

Theon smiled.

Robb let their hands drop and turned towards the door. He’d taken a few steps when the doorknob wiggled and the door creaked open. “Coming!” Robb called, picking up his pace. “Just give me—”

The door swung open, and Robb stopped mid-step. Of all the officers they could have sent down from Winter Town, he’d least expected Officer Tarly. And yet there he was, a rather shocked expression on his face.

“You!” Theon snarled and rushed him. “You’re the one who hurt Robb!”

Tarly took out his gun.

“Wait!” Robb threw his hands out to stop the charging Zynth.

To no avail. Tarly fired. Theon went down, three of six bullets lodged in his head.


	26. Chapter 26

“The techs say the systems across the board have been damaged beyond repair.”

Robb listened dispassionately to Officer Seaworth’s words, nodding at the tablet screen occasionally to show that he was still listening.

“They weren’t able to salvage anything from the data storage, not even to use as evidence. Apparently the bullets in Officer Tarly’s gun were specifically designed to disrupt Zynth functions. He’d taken to carrying them after his first run-in with your unit.”

Robb nodded again.

“I’m sorry, son. I thought you’d like to know.”

Robb didn’t respond.

“Would you, perhaps, like to have the…body.”

For the first time, Robb trained his eyes on Seaworth’s face. “You would let me have him?”

Seaworth shrugged. “It’s highly irregular, but seeing as we have no use for it…him…here and he’s not likely to be a danger to anyone given his…state, I might be able to convince the folks in evidence.”

“I would…” Robb sat up straight and wiped his arm across his eye in anticipation of tears. Luckily, they didn’t come. “Thank you, Officer Seaworth. I would appreciate it a lot.”

Seaworth smiled sadly. “I understand what you’re going through, lad. I never had closure. Not with my son, and not with the Zynth I tried to replace him with. Maybe if you get some closure yourself, you’ll be able to move on with your life.”

Robb nodded absently. He very much doubted he would be “moving on” any time soon, especially with Ramsay still out there. The chicken shit had seen the police cars converged at his factory hideaway and had hauled ass, escaping into the vast network of country roads. The last Robb had heard of him had been a scratchy voice message left on his tablet: _Think you’re clever, Stark? Wanna match wits? Okay, let’s do it. First one to let his guard down loses._

He hung up with Officer Seaworth just as Jon knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Jon scooted in backwards holding a tray. “I’ve got some dinner for you,” he said, turning around once he was free of the door. “Just some light stuff.”

“For Gods’ sake, Jon,” Robb huffed. “Minor dehydration. Not…can’t eat on his own, better fetch the feeding tube.” The IV needle was nothing but a bruise now, a memento from the hospital.

Jon ducked his head sheepishly.

“I’m teasing, Jon.” Robb sat up straighter as Jon set the tray over his lap. “I really appreciate you coming down. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did,” Jon protested. “When I heard what had happened…” His bit his lip nervously and fussed with the utensils until Robb shooed him away. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Robb frowned. “Don’t say that. I don’t want you to feel like it was your fault.” He picked up his spoon and brandished it like a sword. “And come tomorrow morning, you’re getting on that plane and going back to your job. I don’t want you wasting all of your vacation days on me.”

“Wasting? Never.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” Robb dipped his spoon into the soup, something thick and red, probably cream of tomato. He couldn’t really smell much through his broken nose. The doctor had said they’d need to wait for it to heal before they could fix it, which meant going in, re-breaking it, and _then_ resetting it. One of those mistakes you couldn’t fix until it was healed first—like a bad tattoo. “You’re thinking you’re going to stay longer, maybe even move back in. Well, I’m here to tell you, mister, that’s not going to happen.”

Jon looked shocked, then guilty. “I just thought, after everything that happened…”

“I’ve got Arya and Gendry checking in on me, Mom’s due in late afternoon tomorrow—so you might want to be gone by then—and I could always call in a favor from Dacey and Smalljon.” He took a sip of the soup. Yep, definitely cream of tomato. “I’ve got plenty of people who can cart my ass around.”

“Yeah, but…” Jon sat heavily on the end of the bed, hands folded in his lap. “I mean, you don’t always…you know, you can always tell me anything.”

The spoon clinked against the side of the bowl as Robb continued eating. “I know.” He smiled around a mouthful of soup. It was good—not like anything Theon made, but good enough from something straight out of the can. “And I will. I promise. But you don’t have to be here for that.” He tapped on his tablet, laid aside for the moment. “The magic of modern technology.”

 

***

 

Robb couldn’t sleep. Something about sleeping all day had thrown off his sleeping pattern. Or, at least, that’s what he told anyone who commented on the bags under his eyes. Once Jon was gone—having made one last fuss before he’d left—there was no one to scold Robb for being up too late. He took to working in his shop into the early hours of the morning.

Seaworth had made good on his promise to have Theon’s body sent over once the red tape was cleared. Until he’d actually seen it, Robb had convinced himself that the damage couldn’t be that bad, the “guys in tech” didn’t know what they were talking about. No way a couple bullets to the head could do that much to a Zynth, even if they specifically anti-Zynth bullets. But then he’d unpacked Theon from the crate and…

And yeah, there wasn’t much from the neck up to salvage. The bullets had blown half of Theon’s face clear off, and that was just the superficial damage. Apparently, what made these bullets anti-Zynth was their short burst of EMP, which fried absolutely everything electrical within the radius burst upon impact.

Robb ran a diagnostic scan. There was nothing left to diagnose. Theon’s memory had been wiped. Erased. Three times over. Try as he might, Robb couldn’t bring anything online. Not the personality, not the memory, not even basic functions like movement and voice command recognition. There was just…nothing.

Nothing that had been stored in the “brain.” Which was classically where everything was stored, just the way it would be in a human. But there were other places that stored information—the limbs, the chromatophores in the skin, the eyes. Not much to work with. Nothing he could use to bring Theon back, but…

It was better than nothing.

Theon had one eye left. Robb started with that. Scalpel in hand, he steeled himself and pried the eyelid back. One large blue eye stared up at him, unseeing. His hand shook, but in the end, he managed to pry the thing out. Zynth eyes were much firmer than a human’s, and it was like handling a large marble. Besides the blue of the iris, it was perfectly smooth and white, no red veins or discoloration of the sclera. Too perfect.

Robb set it on a stand to keep it from rolling and hooked the optical wires into his computer. It beeped, and Robb’s heart leapt. There was information flowing from the eye into the computer. He clicked on the program that popped up.

It was a simple file viewing program. There were a few dozen images, most of them corrupted or partially blotted out. But there were a few that didn’t appear damaged. None of them were labeled beyond a long string of numbers. Robb clicked on the first one.

An image of his face came up, smiling into the camera. At first he didn’t recognize himself. It looked like his face and there was his read hair, but it didn’t _look_ right. The man in that picture looked…pleasant. Handsome. Charming. Someone others would want to be around. Not the sad, withdrawn person who he knew really lived behind those eyes.

Robb studied the picture for a long time, until he could see himself in the image. “Is this how you saw me, Theon?” he asked. His hand brushed over the tattoo on his arm. This one was taking longer to heal than the last one. It was the only reason he bothered to look in the mirror some days, to see how it was doing.

Maybe he should start looking at his face again too. Maybe if he looked long enough, like he had at his the image on his screen, he’d be able to see what Theon had seen. Maybe he’d be able to see someone worth loving.


	27. Chapter 27

“You still working on that thing?”

Robb jumped. He hadn’t heard anyone enter.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Smalljon put his hands up. “Your Jeyne let me in.”

Robb set his tool down and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, she’s a good Zynth.” Even if she wasn’t originally built to be a security Zynth. It might work in his favor if Ramsay ever decided to show his face around here again. How poetic would that be, if he ended up getting his ass handed to him by one of his old Zynths.

Heavily, heavily refurbished, of course. He’d wanted to see if he could get a Zynth that damaged functioning again. Turns out he had, though the new Jeyne 2.0 had so little in common with White Jeyne that she might as well be a completely different model. His hope built up and destroyed in a single project.

“So…you still working on that thing?” Smalljon asked again, pointing to the table.

“Always,” Robb replied.

Theon’s body had been easy to repair—well, relatively easy, in any case. Three weeks of intensive reconstruction to the face and internal structures, mending the damage to the chest and stomach, and he was practically like a brand new Zynth out of the box. But that was the problem. The hardware had been salvaged, but the same couldn’t be said of the software. The soul, if you wanted to get metaphysical.

Smalljon and Dacey disapproved of him even trying, though for different reasons. Dacey thought he was becoming obsessive— _becoming_?—and Smalljon thought he was working too hard in general, pushing himself. Robb knew others disapproved as well—his mother, for one, who didn’t understand why he would want anything to do with a Zynth who had once belonged to the man who’d kidnapped him; Jon, who was supportive but wondered why Robb couldn’t simply download a new personality for Theon’s body; Police Chief Seaworth, who thought he should move on.

And to be honest, Robb was beginning to wonder if he should. Move on, that is. The whole thing was an exercise in heartbreak.

“Why don’t you give it a break for one day?” Smalljon asked, tapping his thick fingers along the table. “Come down and have a drink with me and Dace.”

Robb sighed and nodded wearily. Although his mind was usually on his project, he could allow himself a break every once in a while. “Alright. Let me put my stuff away.” He began to assemble his array of tools when the blip of a message alert caught him off guard. “Theon,” he called. “Open new messages.”

“You have one new message,” the computer answered back.

Smalljon jumped. “Gods, did you actually get that thing working?”

Robb frowned in confusion before realizing Smalljon’s confusion. “Oh, no, I just salvaged his voice program. I’ve been using it for my desktop assistant.” He turned to the computer. “Theon, play new message.”

“New message is text-based.”

Robb’s frown returned. Who would be sending him a text-based message? Everyone who had dropped him a line over the last month had at least left a face-call. Everyone except, well…

Smalljon followed him as he made his way to the computer. “Have you been listening to your dead droidfriend’s voice day in and day out?”

“What? No,” Robb lied.

“Seven hells, Robb, that _can’t_ be healthy.”

“I know what I’m doing, okay?” He was sick and tired of hearing about what was _healthy_. “Theon, trace new message origin.”

“Unknown origin.”

By the time Robb got to his desk, he had to use it as support. The floor suddenly sloped off to the left and it was either getting very hot in here or very cold, Robb couldn’t tell. “Run virus scan.” Maybe somebody was trying to break into his computer? Shit, what if it _was_ Ramsay trying to check up on him?

“No threats identified,” the computer informed him. A moment later, a second beep sounded. “Upgrades complete,” Theon’s voice said.

“Upgrades? I didn’t schedule any upgrades.” Robb leaned against the desk and studied the monitor. “Theon, show me the new upgrades.”

A text window popped up. It was an email. The subject read “For Robb Stark.” It was dated Fathersday, Tenth-Month 2016. The day he and Theon had escaped from Ramsay’s warehouse. He’d learned that Ramsay had been holding him there for three days.

With a shaking hand, Robb opened it.

 

_Attn: User Robb Stark. The following is a personalized message from your Zynth TM doll unit._

 

There was a distinct possibility his heart stopped for a full second. Robb took a breath and scrolled down.

_Robb, I hope this message reaches your computer. If you’re reading it, it means you were able to escape. I hope my plan played a role in it. I hope that I did not have to resort to my secondary plan, as it involves permanently deleting motor functions from my memory so that I can’t be used to harm you._

_I would rather be broken than hurt you._

_Chances are, I’m no longer functioning. That’s fine. I’ve come to some realizations over the last three days, and because I’m about to purge a bunch of data from my memory, I know that I’ll forget them. So I’m making a log of them, so that maybe you’ll read them and understand the situation a little better. I know that you hate me for what I’ve done, or been unable to do, so if you don’t want to hear any of this and instead want to delete this message now, that’s fine as well. I understand._

_Here goes._

_I think I understand love better than when we talked about it last time. Back then, you said my definition was satisfactory. I said that I loved Master because he took care of me and gave me purpose, because I feel affection for him and am happy whenever he’s around. I still feel that way towards Master, even though I know he is not an exemplary human. I know that must be difficult for you to understand, given what he’s put you through these last three days. It’s not something I can explain. My definition was not satisfactory because it left out the irrationality of love._

_You see, I would let Master break me over and over again, even beyond the point of anything you could repair. It terrifies me. I don’t want to ‘die.’ But I would allow him to it if it made him happy. But for you, **I** would break **myself**. I would do irreparable damage to my body and memory banks if it meant your safety. I don’t know why. You’re not my guest admin anymore. I shouldn’t feel any need to serve you. But I do. And I don’t know why._

_I guess it’s because I love you._

_If you’re reading this, chances are that I’m no longer functioning, one way or another. So, before I delete the last few days from my memory, I just wanted to let you know about this revelation. I love Ramsay, but I’m going to fight for you. Because I love you more._

_Love,_

_Theon_

 

Robb wanted to read and reread it, but Smalljon called, “Are you coming?”

“Yeah…just a sec.” Robb minimized the email, determined to pour over everything later, but another window had popped up in the meantime. It read: _Your Zynth TM doll unit has shared files with this device. Do you wish to receive them? _A yes/no option followed.

“Smalljon, why don’t you head on down to the Wolf? I’ll be there shortly.”

“Robb, don’t—”

“No, I promise, I’m not blowing you off. I’ve just got to take care of this one thing, alright?”

He heard Smalljon shrug his massive shoulders, then Jeyne’s polite goodbye as he left through the beaded curtains.

Once he was alone, Robb hit the “yes” option. A zip file appeared. It read, “Open if your forgive me.” Robb immediately opened. A cascade of files erupted on his screen.

For a moment, Robb worried that he’d gotten a virus, but then he started taking note of the seemingly jumbled file names. “Irreverence,” “veneration,” “rebellion,” “submissiveness,” “neediness,” “neediness,” “neediness.” Neediness three times. They were familiar. He’d spent enough time going over them, trimming them down and sorting through them. They were Theon’s personalities, the way they had appeared when Ramsay had first brought him in.

A backup.

Robb’s hands trembled as he collected them, the lot of them, and transferred them to a blank thumb drive.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. If he downloaded the contents of this thumb drive into Theon’s body…would Theon come back? The personality wouldn’t remember anything from their time together. The drunken nights, the conversations, learning to draw and giving Robb his new tattoo. Their kisses. No, it wouldn’t be the Theon he’d fallen in love with. It wouldn’t be the Theon who had chosen him over Ramsay.

He turned the thumb drive over and over in his hands.

It wouldn’t be the Theon he’d fallen in love with, but it would still be the Theon he’d learned to love. All his conflicting personality traits, his desire to please along with his desire to be his own being. It was all there. Raw data. He could program Ramsay out entirely, so that Theon would never _have_ to choose. Was that…the same thing? It wouldn’t be the same, but…maybe that line of thinking wasn’t fair.

To himself.

To Theon.

He pocketed the thumb drive, knowing the chances were pretty big that he would install the backup personality back into Theon’s body. But right now, there were too many questions, too many doubts, and nothing that was going to be solved in five minutes.

Maybe alcohol would help. Not enough to be a danger to himself or others—Theon wasn’t around to protect him from himself anymore, after all—but maybe just enough to act on this poorly thought-out idea. Hopefully it would turn out to be the right kind of mistake.

“Hey, Jeyne,” he called over his shoulder as he pushed through the beaded curtain, “keep an eye on the place while I’m gone. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was going to be the hopeful epilogue, but then I realized there was one scene left that _needed_ to happen. So check back tomorrow...


	28. EPILOGUE

The Boys had come through again, always providing new ways to get around life’s little hindrances. Like the law. First the location scrambler, which had kept the cops from locking in on him, then the universal key card, which he’d given to Robb Stark to get Reek out of the police station. Now a holographic imager that allowed him to sneak by any facial recognition systems that might be in place.

This way, Ramsay could walk straight up to Robb Stark’s door without setting off any alarms. His universal key card got him past the security locks, and his trusty bolt cutters allowed him to break the chain on the workshop door. It was broad daylight, and nobody looked twice.

 _Think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you, Stark_? Ramsay smirked as he shoved the door open. _No matter how smart you think you are, I’m smarter._

For instance, he knew Robb would be away. For the last two weeks, he’d left at this exact time, every Strangersday, to hang around with his friends at that shitty pub downtown. It was the best opportunity Ramsay had. Sneak in, make himself at home, wait for Robb Stark to return, unsuspecting. He couldn’t wait to dig his knife between the pretentious cunt’s ribs.

He closed the door softly behind him. Robb would use the upstairs door when he came back from the pub, the way he always did. He wouldn’t notice Ramsay’s tampering with the chain lock.

Ramsay was practically giddy as he brushed past the service desk and through Robb’s beaded curtain into the workshop. Almost two months of waiting, planning. Two months since he’d seen the police cars outside the rendering plant and known that Robb Stark had escaped him. Two months since he’d lost Reek to that asshole.

Reek, who’d been callously discarded, according to Damon’s report. Sent to the scrap heap after no useful data could be pulled from his ruined databanks.

Ramsay’s fist tightened around the knife in his pocket. He’d avenge Reek by cutting Robb Stark’s throat out. No, that was too quick. Granted, he wouldn’t be able to draw things out the way he’d originally planned—everything needed to be done and finished by tonight so he could make his escape—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make Robb’s death slow and painful.

It was pitch dark in the workshop. Ramsay cursed as he tripped over something that clattered under his feet. He staggered to the nearest wall and felt for the light switch. No sense stumbling around blind if he was the only one here.

He flicked on the switch.

And found he _wasn’t_ the only one here.

There, standing under the fluorescent lightbulb, was Reek. Or a near-enough replica.

Ramsay froze in confusion. What was this? Had Damon fed him wrong information? Or was Robb Stark really just that obsessed with his Zynth that he’d made an exact duplicate, down to the eye color?

It was staring at him, and he realized it was on. It shouldn’t be on. He was wearing a frequency emitter that was guaranteed— _guaranteed_ —to automatically shut down all Zynths within a ten-meter radius. It would be stupid to go into a Zynth workshop without one. But this…Reek imitation…it wasn’t shut down.

“You are not authorized to be here,” Reek’s familiar voice said.

Ramsay pulled his knife out.

“Ramsay Bolton.”

Ramsay nearly dropped his knife. Then grabbed it tighter and with his free hand felt for the holographic imager on his collar. Yes, it was still on. So how had this Zynth been able to see through it?

This wasn’t good. He hadn’t planned for this. If the Zynth recognized him, it had probably already sent out a message to the authorities. His plan was ruined. He’d need to fall back and regroup.

“Fine, Robb Stark,” he muttered. “You’ve won this round.”

He started to back away, but was stopped when the heels of his boot hit something.

“You are not authorized to be here.”

He turned, slowly, to see a little Jeyne model standing there, staring up at him with its big, brown eyes. And the _way_ she was staring…she recognized him too. Dressed in a loose-fitting white dress, she looked like a child. She was terrifying.

Ramsay jumped back from her.

She cocked her head, as if in confusion, and took a step forward. “Do you not recognize me, Ramsay Bolton? Master?”

“Stay away from me.”

“I am not authorized to obey you, Master.” She took another step.

Ramsay clutched his knife tighter.

Then jumped at the sound of rustling cloth. He spun to see the billowing of the white sheets covering human figures along the wall. There was no wind.

“What—?”

The figures began to _move_.

 A small figure detached itself, pulling the sheet along with it. Ramsay didn’t want to see what was under there. He flinched back.

“M-a-a-ast-e-er.” Another Jeyne, this one’s voice box almost too ruined to produce anything other than a strangled cry.

“Stay away!” he cried again, lashing out with his knife.

“No-o-ot…thor-i-iz-z-z…ed.”

The other shapes were moving too. Reaching out for him with their arms. Some didn’t have legs, and those ones crawled. One broke from under the white fabric. He remembered her. Her name had been Kyra. She was missing her jaw, and yet she still called out to him, joining her voice with the others’.

“Master.”

“Not authorized.”

“To be here.”

“To obey you.”

They were everywhere. From every side. Blocking him in. Suffocating him.

The only way out were the stairs up to the apartment. The Reek replacement was in the way. Ramsay rushed at him, swinging with his knife. He caught the fake Reek in the belly. Which would have sent the real Reek to the floor, begging for mercy as he cried out in pain.

Fake pain.

Zynths didn’t feel real pain. They couldn’t be cowed unless you programmed it into them.

Fake Reek stood there, knife in his stomach, and stared at Ramsay.

“Reek?” Ramsay couldn’t bring his voice above a whisper, almost lost among the groaning of the machines as they closed in on him. “You remember me, don’t you?”

Reek’s eyes glinted. He did! It couldn’t be his imagination. Whatever Robb Stark had done…

“Master.” The Jeyne in white was right behind him. The closeness of her mechanical body caused every hair on his body to stand on end. The others weren’t far behind her. What would they do to him? Gods, what nightmares had Robb Stark been building in his workshop?

“Reek.” Ramsay forced his voice louder. “Let me pass. I order it.”

“I’m sorry, Master.” Reek put an impossibly strong hand on Ramsay’s shoulder. Pushed down hard enough to force Ramsay to his knees. “But you’re _not_ authorized to be here, and I am _not_ authorized to obey you.”

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at the end. I have to admit it was a bit of an experiment for me, moving away from the big, action-packed climaxes I usually do, so I'd be interested to hear if a quieter last few chapters worked for you or not.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone for reading. Your support means the world to me. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit always welcome. Thanks for reading!


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